Surviving is Just Step One
by Cheryl W
Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1: In the Dark

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: I had this whole list of things written here to tell a little more about the elements of the storyline but they really gave too much of the story away so I'll just hope that you like the story as it comes together. This case comes up right after Sam gives up on Amelia and Dean cuts off his connection with Benny but things aren't all forgiven and smooth between the brothers.

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Chapter 1: In the Dark

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_Rule #1: There's always something out there in the dark waiting to eat you._

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Sam's not a fool and he knows his brother better than anybody else on the planet. He knows his brother probably better than anyone knows anyone else, period. Which is why he knows Dean's acting squirrelly, even for Dean. And that's saying a lot.

But would the jerk tell him what's got him all on edge? No. Course not. So he's left doing what he's always had to, watch his brother, make sure he doesn't go off and do something reckless and be ready to slip behind his brother's barriers the instant Dean lets them down for a millisecond.

Which, by the way Dean's grumbling as he stows their gear into a duffle bag, isn't going to happen in the near future. Sam almost sighs. But the next second, he takes his life in his hands, steps up beside Dean and asks, "You alright?" eyes locking on his brother's profile.

Dean's gruff, almost indignant, "Yeah" isn't reassuring, especially since Dean didn't give him eye contact, actually slammed his precious Impala's trunk and then moved away from him, slinging the bag on his shoulder as he went.

From past experience, Sam knows how futile it would be to press Dean in the mood he's in so he simply zips up his jacket and takes the path his brother has already forged through the forest. And it's almost wrong that he's hoping there really is a Wendigo lurking because, if this is a snipe hunt, he's not sure Dean won't just shoot something out of aggravation. '_Hopefully not me,"_ he thinks before he smirks, knows Dean would get a kick out of his little brother's whine. And the thought that he might amuse Dean almost has him running a bit to catch up to Dean, until he sees the taut set to his brother's back, knows that mirth isn't going to come so easily, not today.

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Dean's pacing the circuit of their campsite like a caged animal, eyes always on the forest and Sam swears he sees the glint of steel in his brother's hand. But Dean knows as well as he does that a knife would be useless against a Wendigo.

"Food's ready," Sam calls the short distance to his brother.

"Not hungry," Dean replies without pausing in his prowl of the camp, or sparing a look at Sam.

"You have to be. All you had was a granola bar for lunch." Which wasn't weird, right? Just because Sam chowed down two sandwiches and Dean nibbled on what he usually deemed rabbit food. Yeah, back to the notion of Dean acting squirrely.

His back to Sam, Dean drawls, "What can I say, it was really filling." But he hears Sam getting up, approaching and braces himself for whatever speech his brother's about to unleash on him, tries to head if off at the pass. "I'm not hungry. Don't make a federal case about it." His eyes on the darkness, on the trees, ears straining to hear something, anything moving in the underbrush.

Coming to a stop at Dean's shoulder, Sam doesn't spare a second of his attention on the forest, has it all focused on his brother. Besides, Dean's watching the forest with enough intensity for both of them. "What is it?" he gently asks, knows there's something dark lurking behind his brother's edginess.

Dean turns to the north, thinking he heard something, distractedly mumbles to Sam, "What is what?"

"You've been on edge ever since this case came up," Sam points out, makes sure to not accuse, to not appoint whatever's going on with his brother as weakness.

But Dean paces away, grumbles, "Excuse me for not looking forward to another Wendigo encounter. Last one you and I encountered had me on a hook, ready to cure me into beef jerky..or man jerky."

And Dean's trying, he is, but the lightness, it's not holding water with Sam. And Dean's utter failure to even come close to fooling him, it's a worry. "I know. I was there," Sam solemnly reminds, wasn't going to ever forget the feeling in his gut when Dean went missing, when he knew the Wendigo had him. Months afterwards he woke up in a cold sweat with memories of falling into that shaft and finding Dean hanging there, not moving. Except sometimes his dreams didn't stick to the prewritten script, had him rush to Dean's limp form, shake him…and notice his brother's throat had been severed by one brutal swipe of Wendigo claws.

Sam's next attempt at lightness is more for himself than Dean. "Don't worry, if it comes down to it, I'll save you again."

But his humor falls flat, doesn't even provoke a sarcastic sneer from Dean. In fact, it doesn't even earn him Dean's attention. Its dismal proof that whatever's going through his brother's head, it's not going away with a few lame jokes. Stepping directly in front of Dean, Sam blocks his brother's view of the forest, gets as far as uttering an entreaty of "Dean…" before Dean yanks him back. And he's not sure if the rough manhandling is to get him out of Dean's line of sight or is a protective gesture by his brother to keep him behind him. But either way, it's startling…and unsettling, speaks of something Dean rarely shows: Fear.

Suddenly that same emotion gathers in Sam's gut like volcano lava, and it has nothing to do with a Wendigo. "We're pretty far from where the attacks happened but we can put the Anasazi protection around our campsite," he suggests because he'll do anything to soothe his brother, to help Dean lose that manic energy that seems to be building inside him.

But Dean's not reassured by the idea, recriminates instead, "And if it's not a Wendigo, whatever's out there coming to rip our hearts out will catch us with our pants down."

It's the way Dean says it, the ferociousness, the surety of his tone, the indisputable belief that something is out there, something merciless, something hungry, it makes Sam forget for a moment that he's a hunter, that he's not supposed to quake at the thought of whatever's in the dark. When that logic returns, he strategizes, "Ok, we'll take turns being on guard. I'll take first watch."

"I'm not tired," Dean announces, eyes latching onto the darkness, never on Sam.

Sam dares to slip closer to Dean, wishes he had the courage to reach out, touch Dean, ground him, get him to _look_ at him. "You're not hungry. You're not tired and apparently you're not up to telling me the truth," a testiness to his tone that he hadn't meant to incorporate but something good comes out of it because Dean's actually looking at him.

"What truth?" Dean asks, wonders what he's missed. Suddenly knows it's time for him to pay attention to whatever Sam's saying because truth was important between them now, at least they were both trying to _make_ it important.

Sam frowns because Dean's tone is more confused than confrontational. "What's got you so spooked?"

Dean's eyes frost over into a glare and his voice is an insulted growl, "I don't get _spooked,_ Sam."

Sam's not dumb, knows a warning shot when he sees one, so he backs down, restates, "Fine, not spooked but you're something, Dean," and there's an entreaty in there, sympathy, understanding, even need.

Dean's suddenly back to his night watch, goes to continue his perimeter sweep. He takes about two steps before he notices that he's got a 6'4" shadow. Stopping, he turns to Sam, practically turns _on_ Sam. "Where are you going?"

"Whatever you are," Sam simply confesses, figures if Dean wasn't going to open up, the least he could do was keep Dean company.

Dean nods toward the fire, toward the kettle over the flames. "Go eat, Sam."

"Not unless you do," Sam counters, not stubbornly but with conviction. Knows how to play this game, even after all these years.

Anger gathers in Dean's eyes. "Are you kidding me?! That stopped being cute when you were eleven, Sam."

"Cute?!" Sam huffs at his brother's misapprehension of his actions, then and now. "I did it so you wouldn't give me all of our food while you went hungry!"

There's more of a vulnerable crack in Dean's voice than a snap, "What?!"

Shaking his head, Sam knows he shouldn't be surprised Dean never figured it out. His brother always was oblivious when it came to his own needs, of when someone was trying to take care of him. Still was. "Dean, I wasn't as naïve as you thought I was. I knew you rationed our food when Dad was off hunting. Sometimes you didn't eat anything but you always made sure I did."

Dean's brow is creased, he's half way between being touched and being torqued. "So your little temper tantrums about the food sucking, that you wouldn't eat it unless I had some too…."

Sam shrugs. "It wasn't tactful but it got the job done."

There's almost a note of pride in Dean's retort, "You're a friggin' conman. At age nine."

Sam's smile is unrepentant. "Runs in the family."

Dean concedes with a snort, "Yeah, that it does."

Sam steels himself a moment before he takes the plunge, tests the waters. "So, can we eat now?"

But he loses Dean's eye contact again to the forest.

"Sam, I have to…" Dean gestures to the encompassing darkness, as if its answer enough.

"We'll both keep an ear out, ok? We'll eat quietly," Sam negotiates, tugs on Dean's arm until Dean finally moves, goes with him and claims a spot around the campfire. They eat in companionable silence but Sam doesn't miss Dean's furtive glances into the forest. Looking at the bowl in his hand and not his brother, he says, voice so quiet it barely reaches Dean. "It's not about this being a Wendigo, is it?"

Dean sighs, wants Sam to just drop it, is starting to realize that, at this point, the only way that might happen is if he makes it an order. "Sam just…"

But Sam makes his own ending to the order. "…ignore the fact that you're so tense I think you're going to break something?! No, I'm not going to do that." Hates that Dean's jaw clenches and that Dean looks two seconds away from standing up and taking a stroll into the woods that seem to be calling his name, and not in a good way. So he pulls out the big guns, admits what he hasn't so far, maybe even to himself. "I chose hunting. I …I chose _you_."

At Sam's declaration, Dean's eyes fly to Sam's. Dean hadn't trusted to make that leap in logic when Sam didn't go back to Amelia. Knew his brother's decision could be in spite of him.

It's both heartbreaking and heartwarming, Dean's shock at his statement, at the truth. Sam hopes it means Dean will ease up on his barriers. He risks it all by asking him to do just that the next second. "Can't you just…let me back in a little bit? Trust me enough to tell me what's wrong?" And he knows what he's asking, how huge it is, even if Dean doesn't know he knows.

When Dean's jaw jumps and his brother's hands tighten on his knees, Sam tries to school his features, to not let his disappointment, his hurt show that Dean's not quite there yet, won't open up to him. So he drops his eyes, doesn't want Dean to see the moisture starting to gather in their depths but they snap up when his brother utters one word.

"Purgatory." The word doesn't come out like Dean had intended it to, comes out like a croak, like a confession. Like a dirty little secret he didn't want anyone to know about. He takes a chance and shoots a look to Sam, Sam who's suddenly pale, hasn't said anything, maybe won't.

The word rips the air from Sam, and he's swallowing down a sick feeling in his gut. Somehow he knew it would lead to this, Dean's place of exile. And it's the last topic Dean opens up about, well, at least to him. To Cas, to Benny, even to friggin' Garth or Kevin, with them, it's not a forbidden topic. And as pissed and hurt as he is by that inequality, he knows this is his shot, maybe his only chance to change that. "Memories?" he hazarded and there's fear in his voice, because he's dreading Dean's answer, has been dreading the details every moment of every day since he knew he had unknowingly _left_ Dean there.

Instead of making a verbal reply, Dean's eyes hold his and he gives a small nod. And Sam suddenly worries that's all he's going to get and it's not going to be enough. But then Dean speaks again, his voice hoarse, like he's been without water for a week, "Forest. It was all forest. No sun, no nature, just had two light settings: gloomy and pitch black."

Sam's breathe catches and he's silently cursing himself for not having had this conversation with Dean before. '_Cause where do I end up dragging my traumatized brother? Into a friggin' forest_! _Sam, you suck_!' And he can't bear all the recriminations, not upon his shoulders, wants some of it to fall elsewhere. "Why didn't you tell me this?!"

Dean's gaze is suddenly calm…nope, dull, like his tone. "You didn't ask."

And that's so like Dean! "I was giving you space!" Sam thunders, should have known that tactic was bound to fail. "But like always, you just burrow deeper into your own head instead of telling me anything."

There's a spark of retaliation in Dean's demeanor, and his words are bitter and harsh. "Yeah, because you seemed real interested in where I went off to. And your sympathy…wow…really makes me wanna open up, break out the Purgatory stories. What did you say about when I was pissed you didn't look for me, "_Well you're Ok." _No harm, no foul, right, Sammy_?_"

Sam flinches, can hardly believe he was that callous. "Ok, I was a jerk."

"You think?!" Dean snaps back but is now ready and willing to take the gloves off. "Is that what I said to you when your hell wall came down? When you shot at me because you thought I wasn't real?!"

Shame colors Sam's face, drenches his soul. Dean's support verses his own….There's no way to make amends for his shortcoming. "You're right, I screwed up. Big time."

"Yeah, you did," Dean coldly agrees, stands up and walks away, into the forest that a moment ago he seemed to fear.

'_Well that's a testament of how lousy he finds my_ company' Sam miserably thinks, watches as the night seems to swallow Dean up whole.

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Dean's only a few hundred feet from Sam, from the fire, but it's like they don't exist now. Now with the trees looming over him, the light nearly gone, the quiet…it's just as he remembers it. Like it was that first night….

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Turning away from Cas, trying to shut out the angel's '_I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds_', Dean stared out at the dark forest he had been dropped into, didn't like the red eyes glowing back from the darkness. Felt the fear that he was chastising himself for feeling, grow. "Cas I think we better…" he started, but Cas wasn't at his back, was nowhere in sight.

"Cas!" he shouted, his voice not even echoing in the thick silence of the woods encompassing him. But another sound reached him, reverberated through his chest….low growls, the crunch of something making its way through the forest…heading his way. And beyond the small circle of trees, there was a little open plain. He could see things streaking by out there….and other things pursuing them.

Pulling Ruby's knife from his jacket, he clenched onto it, pretended that his hand wasn't shaking as he contemplated holding his ground. But thinking of Cas' description of where he was, it made him think better of the idea. '_Every soul is a monster. This is where they come to prey on each other for all eternity_.'

No one could hold out for eternity…he knew that better than anyone. After all, he was the guy who only lasted thirty years in Hell before he sold his soul for real.

So he opted for a choice Hell never gave him: He ran.

And like any good monster, they chased him.

There was no strategy, no plan, no anything, all he had was the idea to run, to not trip over the above ground roots, to skirt around any monsters in his path, to keep ahead of the pack. But one thought he couldn't shut out and wished he could because it was the most selfish one he had ever had. Because it wasn't Cas that he really missed having at his side. It was Sam. And him wanting Sam in this horror show with him?! That certainly made him the worst brother …_ever_.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I would love to know if you are enjoying the story so far.

The storyline will consist of Dean present day with Sam and Purgatory flashbacks that will include Benny and Cas. So if you're up for that, I hope you'll tune into the next chapter.

Have a great day and a Happy Easter!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2: Up Close

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

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Chapter 2: Up Close

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_Rule #2: The trick is knowing how close you need to be to kill and not __be__ killed._

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The sun's just making an appearance when Dean finally gives up skulking in the woods and enters their camp. Sam is instantly on his feet, like he's been primed for his brother's return for awhile…all night actually.

Fighting the urge to latch onto Dean so he doesn't skitter off into the forest again, Sam commands, "Ok, pack up. We're getting out of here."

"What? Why?" Dean tensely counters, not sure what he could have missed, especially since he hadn't been more than two hundred yards away from Sam all night.

"We'll get Garth to put someone else on this," Sam announces, making a point to not look at Dean. Instead he picksup his already packed bag from the ground and slings it over his shoulder.

Dean suddenly knows Sam's motives aren't about danger, are about pity … misgivings that he won't have his back, will be a liability to him. "No, we're here, Sam," he growls, eyes pinning Sam, telling him that he knows exactly what's going through his little brother's head and resents it.

Not willing to back down, to Dean's hot glare or his brother's statement, Sam declares, "Yeah and we're leaving Dean," his imposing tone indicating that he's in charge now.

"I don't need your protection!" Dean rails back angrily, didn't mention Purgatory so Sam would turn into his friggin' bodyguard instead of his brother.

"Well tough. You're my brother, Dean. Protecting you is hardwired into me!" Sam grouses, miffed that he has to tell Dean that, that Dean doesn't already know that. Picking up Dean's bag, he forcefully throws it at his brother, who deftly catches it before it smacks him in the chest. "If we hustle, we can be out of here before nightfall."

But Dean rebelliously throws his bag on the ground, isn't going to stand there and take Sam's coddling. "No. I'm not quitting on the hunt. You think a Wendigo's the _worst thing_ that stalked me in Purgatory?!" he incredulously jeered before snorting. "Not even close. And that was when it was just me against them."

Sam stills in shock, not at Dean's denial but at the revelation his brother let slip. His tone is dangerous and low when he asks, "What do you mean, '_just you against them'_? Cas was there with you." And there's a question there that he never thought he had to pose before.

Though Dean says nothing, Sam detects something dark, something near panic in his brother's eyes. It causes his heart to skip a beat. Then he internally curses. Apparently there's so much more to the story that he doesn't know. And by the closed look on Dean's face, it's things his brother isn't willing to tell him.

'_Not yet_,' Sam vows because he can't let this go on, Dean hiding away his pain, his fear, his memories. Not when it apparently isn't doing a thing to heal his brother.

So he picks up Dean's discarded bag, will carry his and Dean's bag if that's what it takes. Truth is, he'll carry Dean out of the woods, if need be. Then he gently appeals, pitches in that soothing little brother tone he only uses on Dean, that Dean brings out in him in times like this, "Let's just go, Dean,"

But Dean's face colors in shame and his next words aren't capitulation but indignation. "Don't treat me like I'm some coward, Sam!" Because he can take a lot but Sam thinking he's…knowing he's….but Sam cuts into his thoughts, his brother's tone not edged in anger but drowning in understanding, concern, and that just makes things worse.

"I'm not, Dean." Sam quietly refutes because the last thing Sam ever believes Dean is…is a coward. Out of everybody, he knows first-hand that his brother's the farthest thing from it. "But I'm not going to subject you to stuff that triggers your worst nightmares." Because even Dean has his limits of what he can bear…and Sam has his limits on how much terror he can witness radiating from his brother.

Dean shifts on his feet, Sam's tone loosening the clench in his gut while upping his dread. "Sam, I don't…"

"Yeah…yeah you do," Sam kindly contests because, though he never let Dean know that he had witnessed his nightmares, that didn't mean they hadn't ripped his heart out, hadn't troubled him.

Sam hates that shame creeps into Dean's eyes. Sardonically, he gives a bitter smile. "Not like either one of us welcomes sleep." Wants Dean to remember they are in the same boat here, that there's no shame in it…not when Sam knows the taste of fear better than anyone else ever would…except Dean.

And Dean allows a smirk to play on his lips. "That's what the alcohol used to be for."

Sam tilts his head, notes the past tense of Dean's statement and suddenly realizes how controlled his brother's drinking has been since Purgatory. But he makes no mention of that revelation. He certainly doesn't want Dean walking that ruinous path again. "I'll call Garth soon as we get a signal. He'll have another hunter here before tomorrow night."

And Sam notes that Dean's voice has lost its anger, is now checked by rationale. "We're hunters and we're right here, Sam." But Dean putting up another facade, it's not really an improvement.

At the worried look Sam levels at him, Dean nearly sighs, abandons logical arguments and moves into easier territory. "Don't worry. I'm not going to flip out on you, slit your throat in the middle of the night," he scathingly pledges, eyes flashing, part of him wanting Sam to admit he's afraid of him and the other part of him terrified it's true.

"Yeah, because it's me I'm worried about," Sam snaps back, can't believe Dean can't accept he's terrified _for_ him, not _of him_. Never that. Not even when Dean admitted their father said he might have to kill him. And that should mean something to Dean.

"I can handle this," Dean hisses through clenched teeth, hates that Sam doubts him, doubts his courage.

And anger isn't getting them anywhere, so Sam lets his desperation show, doesn't try to conceal the crack in his voice as he implores, "You're missing the point, Dean. I don't want you to _have_ to handle it."

Dean's anger flees, can't stand against Sam's honest-to-goodness desire to protect him. "I'm good, Sam. I am."

Sam shakes his head, runs a hand over his face and struggles to not swing on Dean or gather Dean into a hard punishing hug. Because Dean having to deal with this stuff in this too real setting, it is his fault ..and Dean's not blaming him, is trying to erase his guilt by saying he is just dandy being somewhere that has enough bad memories to make even the strongest person go loco. "Yeah, because you missed Purgatory so much you wanted to go to a place that feels just like it," he cynically remarks, his guilt rising, no matter Dean's efforts to make it go away.

Shrugging indifferently, Dean replies, "Woods, they aren't going to be my favorite vacation spot but it's not like I ever liked camping much to begin with."

Sam swallows down the lump in his throat, knows what's prompting Dean's bravado. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

Dean's eyes skirt away from Sam and drift into the forest. "Well maybe I have to prove it to myself."

That brings Sam up short. "Prove what?"

Eyes alighting on his brother again, Dean admits, "That I know when to not kill. Cause the killing part…" here he smiles and he knows it is the wolf's smile that he has perfected but only unleashes for special occasions that call for a certain amount of nastiness…like hell…and Purgatory. "I got really good at it, Sam," he boasts because he's so good at the stuff that's not a credit to him, to anyone whose soul isn't tainted. "No thought, no '_should I, shouldn't I_?' No hesitation. None. Their lives for my survival. Anything that got close, I killed, Sam. I never gave any of them a chance to make nice." Then he drops his eyes from Sam, finds that he isn't brave enough to watch Sam's concern for him turn into disgust.

And Sam can't stand the guilt, the recrimination, the self-hatred pouring off of Dean, needs to stop it. Knows how to maybe stop it…but his method …it's not the easiest path..for him. His voice is hoarse, tight as he forces the words out, does it for Dean, because Dean's more important to him than his own ego, than his own staggering jealousy. "But you didn't kill Benny."

Dean's bowed head snaps up, his eyes colliding with Sam's. He never expected Sam to offer that defense for his action, especially not when it seemed to imply Sam was Ok with his alliance with Benny. He can't quite think of what to say after that.

Not sure what Dean's silence signifies, Sam nervously pulls the two bags higher on his shoulder. "I mean…it must not have been ….easy." At Dean's wide-eyed response, Sam rushes out his next words, hadn't meant to imply that it wasn't easy for Dean to not kill. "No, I mean…..to trust him."

Dean's eyes narrow. He doesn't trust Sam's sudden polar opinion on the topic of Benny. Doesn't know what angle Sam's playing but isn't interested in it leading to him discussing the bond he and Benny had forged because, he's not stupid as Sam thinks he is. He knows that's the very last topic Sam wants to hear about. "I think you're forgetting one thing: I'm a hunter, Sam. I kill monsters for a living. Benny's the idiot who trusted _me_ first."

Sam detects the revulsion in Dean's tone, revulsion Dean directs at himself. And it's wrong that it's easier for Sam to hear that self-hatred than the fondness that lurks in his brother's words. A fondness his brother has for a vampire…for Benny. And Sam can't help but wonder how his brother won over a friggin' vampire. '_But if anyone could do it, it would be Dean_.'

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They were gaining ground on him, the breaking of underbrush behind him was close now, too close. Ruefully surprised that he could hear anything over the frantic beating of his own heart, the harsh in and out of his breath, Dean reminded himself when a branch snapped to his left that the presence at his side wasn't a foe…well, for the moment he wasn't.

Before he sensed the imminent danger, he was tackled from behind. His chin slammed into the forest floor and his breath was knocked out of his lungs, seemingly for good. But breath or no breath, he moved anyway, wouldn't let panic freeze him, couldn't, not if he didn't want to be monster stew. Sending an elbow back into the creature who was pinning him to the ground, he wondered if the monster even had a nose to break. But it howled in pain and he knew he had found a weakness, all the same.

As he scrambled forward on all fours, this time he foresaw the renewed attack, dropped to his back and swiped out with the knife. The hairy, humanoid monster didn't even get out a good growl before he loped off its head. He rolled half a turn so the headless corpse didn't land on him. But the victory party was cut short when another such creature was immediately in his personal space, lashing out with claws, claws that dug across his collarbone. With a growl of his own, he treated the second creature to the same mercy he had the first.

Wise enough to know that there was no time to capitulate to the pain, he climbed to his feet, knife at the ready…only to find the other three creatures in the pack were already down for the count, one only inches away from him, their mortal wounds courtesy of a purgatory forged knife dripping with blood and held in the deft grip of his vampire companion.

His eyes met Benny's.

In another setting, his gaze might have conveyed appreciation, gratitude but not then, not there. Suspicion was paramount there, distrust the principal to live by, literally.

So when Benny's eyes flickered from his face to his shoulder, took in the sight of his wound, of the _blood_, Dean instinctively retreated back a step when the vampire made a move in his direction.

Dean hated that his second step backwards was a stumble, that the wound was already affecting him, weakening him.

"Whoa, friend. No need to be so skittish," Benny drawled in his soft southern tang, hands at his side in a show of peace.

"Right 'cause this isn't the smell you love best," Dean jeered, pressing his hand on his wound and then raising his bloody hand up for Benny's inspection. He hoped that show and tell distracted Benny, that the vampire didn't notice that his other hand had a killer grip on Ruby's knife, that he was ready to defend himself if the vampire decided it was mealtime.

But Benny's eyes dispassionately abandoned their focus on the blood dripping from Dean's hand, held Dean's eyes instead. "You seem like a man who enjoyed red meat, but I don't think the cows in the farmer's field had to fear for their lives. "

"Is that what I am to you…a cow?" Dean goaded.

Benny gave a carefree shrug. "Not where I was going with the analogy but I doubt I can change your mind. Least not yet." And he began to advance toward Dean again.

Dean responded by raising Ruby's knife into a defensive position and lethally warned, "Stay back."

"Haven't I earned a little slice of trust?" Benny coaxed, adopting a slightly hurt tone.

"Trust," Dean snorted, the very thought of bestowing that on the man, no, on the vampire in front of him was ludicrous, even there. "Buddy, you are so far from having my trust," he darkly chuckled.

"Awww, you're almost hurting my feelings," Benny sarcastically retorted, a smile pulling up his lips.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean grunted back. And he didn't know how the vampire had interpreted his words as a come-hither invite but Benny was walking toward him again. Though his knife was at the ready, Dean stepped backwards, found he didn't _want_ to end Benny. Told himself that his reluctance only had to do with the vamp's invaluable knowledge of a way out of Purgatory.

Undeterred, Benny continued to draw closer to Dean, lightly requested, "Come on now. Let me have a look see. Wouldn't do for my '_soul train'_ to up and die on me."

Not one to turn tail and run if he didn't have to, Dean decided that Benny had pushed him as far as he'd let him, stood his ground where he was at. He tensed as Benny neared and when the vampire was a mere foot away, he pressed the knife to the vamp's neck, snarled, "Back off or your soul train's gonna lob your head clean off your shoulders."

Eyes holding Dean's, Benny calmly spurred, "Then do it. Put me outta my misery."

As his eyes sear into the vampire's, Dean realized that there are no fangs appearing in the vamp's mouth…and there should be. Especially when there was human blood permeating, not only Dean's shirt, but the very air. Even Dean could smell it. Of course, he had way too much experience with that particular smell.

Benny had called his bluff because Dean couldn't do it, he couldn't kill the vamp. Because Benny might not be lying about a way out. Because Benny saved his life that first time and now again by standing with him. "You even _fantasize_ about taking a chomp out of me, you'll be dead before you hit the ground," Dean dangerously vowed, thought the vampire had seen enough of his moves to know that it wasn't a bluff nor a baseless brag.

"Fair enough." Then, with Dean's knife still pressed to his neck, Benny lifted Dean's shirt. At the sight of the welling blood, he didn't flash fangs, instead he gave a sympathetic grimace. "He got you pretty good."

"Thanks Doctor McDreamy," Dean snarked.

"Who?" Benny questioned, confusion on his features.

Dean rolled his eyes at the vampire's puzzlement, had forgotten that Benny hadn't been topside for nearly fifty years. "Doctor McCoy?" he moderated as he finally conceded and pulled his knife blade from the vulnerable flesh of Benny's neck.

At that reference, Benny smiled like a joke had been passed between them. "That make you Captain Kirk?"

With a cocky smile, Dean boasted, "If you knew my track record with the women, you wouldn't have to ask that."

"Alright Casanova, take a load off," Benny advised as he half helped and half pushed Dean down to take a seat at the base of a tree. But when he reached out to shift Dean's shirt to get a look, his hand touched Dean's shoulder, initiated their first flesh to flesh contact. To Dean's surprise, it was the vampire who startled at the exchange.

"What?" Dean roughly accused, muscles taut, not sure if the vampire suddenly couldn't pass on a little Scooby snack after all.

Wide eyed, Benny looked at his companion. "Your skin…it's warm."

It wasn't a condition Dean was used to having to defend. "Not a vampire, remember."

"No, I mean…." Benny stalled out there, eyes narrowing in contemplation before he decided to continue. "Everything I've ever encountered here, it's been cold to the touch. And you're….not." The oddity of that rattled him more than he'd like.

Puzzled at the newest revelation, Dean sarcastically scoffed, "Great. Another way I don't fit in. I'll never make the pep squad now."

But Benny had on his serious face, interrogated, "How'd you get here? You die?"

Dean grimaced. It wasn't really a memory he relished, acing Dick, yeah, but the waking up in Purgatory as a victory prize, not so much. '_Proves that_, _even when I win…I lose._' To his curious co-traveler he awkwardly admited, "Hard to know." At Benny's unblinking stare, he huffed, "I killed the head honcho Leviathan with a blessed piece of wood. He exploded and, presto, I woke up here."

Benny's expression only grew more full of wonder. "You're…" and he reached out, intended to put his hand on Dean's neck.

Fearfully, Dean grabbed Benny's hand, ensured the vampire kept his paws to himself. "Whoa, personal space."

But Dean's hand encircling his, it told Benny what he needed to know and could hardly believe. "You're flesh and blood."

"Last time I checked," Dean countered, not sure when that stopped being obvious.

"You didn't die..more like you …." Benny smirked, suddenly knew what comparison Dean would appreciate, " …jumped on the Enterprise transporter and ended up here."

Dean didn't even try to hold back his matching smirk, was beginning to think that Benny might not be a bad guy to have around…for a vampire. "Remind me to fire Scotty."

Benny found himself chuckling…for the first time in nearly fifty years.

But it wasn't slipping past Dean's notice that Benny was suddenly eyeing him up differently, and not in the big-bad-wolf-let's-have-grandma-for-dinner way. Thank God. But that didn't mean he liked it. "What?" he snapped.

Benny shook his head in astonishment. "I can't believe my survival's hitched to you."

"And that's so awful, why?! If anyone should be complaining about this so called partnership, it should be me. At least I'm not tempted to _eat you_…well, not yet," Dean snarked back.

"It ain't your questionable companionship that bothers me."

"Well, that's a relief," Dean sarcastically sniped but when Benny didn't seem about to elaborate he demanded, "So then what is it?"

Holding Dean's gaze across the dark expansion, Benny debated whether or not to tell Dean what had him on edge. '_If you want Dean to trust you, he'll have to trust the man in return_,' he rationalized before he began to haltingly speak his mind. "You….you're…."

"I'm what?" Dean defensively prodded, brow furrowing, thought Benny shouldn't have any complaints, that he was being a pretty fair guy considering his companion came with a second row of teeth.

Standing up, Benny started to gather the makings of a fire, didn't like that Dean warily watched his movements, leaned back when he knelt across from him. It spoke of a sad absence of the trust he wanted to achieve. Not sure if his honesty would sever any meager trust Dean might be thinking of offering to him or not, he said, "Me trying to get you across the wilds of Purgatory…it's like trying to take a kitten through a tornado."

"I'm not a friggin' kitten," Dean indignantly growled, knocked away Benny's hand as it reached for his wound. His agony spiking at his ill-advised movement, he ended up bracing the wound with his own hand.

Utilizing his supreme strength, Benny forced Dean's hand away from the wound. "I stand corrected. You're a feral kitten that would rather claw and hiss then get patched up and protected."

Dean's planned retort was waylaid by an unplanned hiss of pain as Benny pressed on the wound in an attempt to clot the blood flow.

"There ain't much here far as a med kit goes but there's fire," the vampire announced, praying he didn't have to spell things out for the human.

"Great, another hot poker burn," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What?" Benny had caught the words, just didn't understand them.

"Nothing," Dean grumbled before he endorsed with bitter grace, "Fine. Cauterize the wound."

And half an hour later, when the blade of Ruby's knife was a hot glow, Benny withdrew the knife from the small fire and met Dean's eyes. When he got a permissive nod from Dean, he inhaled, didn't relish the prospect of inflicting pain on the vulnerable human's flesh. But he knew the consequences of infection would be worse if he didn't take drastic measures now. So with a steadying inhale, he settled his one hand on Dean's shoulder to hold the man down and then pressed the searing blade into Dean's seeping wound.

To Dean's credit, the man didn't scream, gave only a choked growl of torment.

Dean bit back the scream aching to rip out of his chest, knew he couldn't dare let it loose. Because screaming had been an acceptable, even an applauded response in Hell, but in Purgatory, it was like ringing a dinner bell…and offering himself up as the main meal.

As the pain crested, Dean felt his grip on consciousness begin to fade away and with it came stark panic. Purgatory wasn't a place to let down your guard. And letting himself be helpless under the watchful eye of the vampire?! That could very well be his last mistake.

When a hand cupped the side of his neck, Dean wanted to flinch away but the lassitude seeping over him was too strong, left him unable to move. Though he expected sharp teeth to sink into his neck just above the vampire's grip, that pain never came. Instead Benny's southern drawl floated above him.

"Easy, kitty cat. I got your back. Nobody's gonna make you into Chinese stir fry…least not tonight. Not under my watch."

Since his natural response would have been to hurl out '_bite me' _at Benny's words, Dean thought it best, for once, that he couldn't talk. And, though it was probably the stupidest thing he could think then, he suddenly didn't feel so apprehensive about slipping under the haze. Because though he might be helpless right then, he wasn't alone.

Watching Dean go boneless, Benny felt almost grateful the stupid idiot's body had a pain threshold even if the man's bravado didn't. Shucking out of his jacket, he tucked it around Dean, was almost anticipating the man's sour look when he woke up covered in a vamp's attire. "Huh," Benny said aloud, because that was a novelty…him looking forward to something. It had been a long while, like fifty years, since that had happened. And he wasn't such a dreamer to think it was all about the prospect of getting topside again. Because he was a realist too, knew that the chances of that actually coming about…wasn't great.

No, it was something else that gave him an appreciation for another day of life…or rather, a day he just might not die.

A very vulnerable human was now under his care. And sure, the circumstances of that responsibility had come about due to his own selfish desire to get out of the never-ending kill or be killed cycle of Purgatory. But no matter the reasons, the end result was the same: He needed to keep Dean Winchester alive.

But there was more to his companion than simply a means to an end, being his 'soul train.' He was starting to see that now. Since hitching his wagon to Dean, he had started to think that the journey might just matter more than the destination. And it wasn't just because the odds of them actually _reaching_ their destination when everything had a hankering to snuff out Dean's lifeforce were slim to none. No, it was the startling fact that traveling with Dean, it wasn't going to get boring anytime soon and he was actually starting to enjoy the man's company, like he hadn't anyone else's in a long while, even before he got turned.

Not that he was going to admit that, especially to the cocky human, any time soon.

**SNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Not wanting to dwell on Benny and the fact that the vampire had occupied his rightful spot at Dean's side in Purgatory, Sam gives Dean his best 'I'm-going-to-get-my-way-because-I'm-not-backing-d own' glower. "Ok, well…I'm walking out of here," he announces, hitches the bags higher on his shoulder, both his and Dean's, hopes Dean recognizes his resolve, and his intent to not only take his bag but Dean's too.

"No, you're not," Dean disdains, calling Sam's bluff. But Sam's not loosening his hold on the bags.

"Come with me," Sam invites, hopes Dean doesn't know he's holding his breath, is fighting back the urge to resort to pleading or force to make him come with him.

"Sam, you're not leaving," Dean refutes Sam's declaration, but Sam's set features tell him differently. '_Crap, he's really gonna leave. With or without me_.' "We're not leaving!" Because, for Dean, they were a package deal, whether Sam wanted it to be that way or not.

Exploiting Dean's big brother tendencies to protect him, Sam drawls, "I'll probably make a nice target, going it solo." When Dean makes no reply, he holds Dean's gaze, waiting for Dean to break down and concede to him. When that doesn't happen, doesn't even seem likely, he nearly breaks. This isn't how he saw this playing out. Thought Dean would always put his safety first, that he could use that lever like he had a hundred times before to make sure that it was Dean that came out unscathed. "Kay," he briskly says and then he starts walking, praying with each step to hear Dean coming up behind him, closing in the increasing gap between them, physically and emotionally.

To Sam's departing back, Dean sarcastically taunts, "You choosing to leave, what a shocker."

At Dean's spiteful words, Sam nearly stumbles, regains his balance at the last second enough to take another step and another. Is kinda glad Dean can't see his face, doesn't get to revel in the hurt he's inflicting.

"Least you can do is leave me my bag!" Dean shouts, can't believe Sam would leave him defenseless, especially in light of his confession that the forest reminded him of Purgatory. It made him doubt that Sam was up front with him about why he didn't go back to Amelia. Maybe Sam just told him what he wanted to hear. Maybe it was more about the husband being alive, about Amelia not taking him back…about Sam not having anywhere else to go but back to his crazy brother and the eternal hunts.

Sam spins around, face morphed now from anger to anguish, "No, the _least_ I can do is not put you through….this," he emphasizes, arms going wide indicating the wall to wall forest he had brought his brother into the heart of.

Sam's open consideration for his fear, it stuns Dean, makes his voice come out pained, quiet and shamed, "So what, I add another thing to my phobia list?! The list's getting pretty long, Sam," self-disgust tainting the observation.

Sensing the lowering of Dean's emotional walls, Sam steps a few paces back to his brother, passionately defends, "Dean, the things you're not scared of would have any other person, hunter or not, crapping in their pants!" When Dean shuffles on his feet, Sam knows he's starting to get through. "Just give yourself some time, Dean," he gently insists, hates that Dean's his own cruelest critic.

Dean snorts, rubs his hand over his face, wishes Sam wasn't being so accepting of his failings. "Time, right? To _hide_?!" he bitter refutes.

Closing in more of the space between he and Dean, Sam corrects, "To process things, to…to heal." And there's not so much censure and denial in Dean's features then as there was before. Adopting a light teasing tone, he suggests, "Hey, a year from now, we can camp out, do it for a month. If you want to."

Dean can't fight back a smirk, knows what Sam's doing. "Yeah, a month?! Not happening."

Sam's smile isn't about a nearly sealed victory, is instead soft, affectionate, supporting . "Let's go," he says, gentle warmth there, coaxing Dean to agree, to go with him.

Dean is on the verge of agreeing but can't just capitulate, knows there's more to think about than his wishes. His eyes leave Sam, drift to the woods that encompass them, that most likely harbor a Wendigo. "Sam, that thing already grabbed three people. If we leave…if someone else gets taken…killed…"

"Who's it going to take Dean?" Sam calmly questions. "We're the only souls out here. The rangers put out warnings about possible bear attacks and it's off season for regular campers. Besides, Garth will have another hunter out here before the week's out. Nothing's going to happen to anybody in the meantime." Pulling Dean's bag off his shoulder, he holds it out for Dean, the invitation clear: '_Go with me. Stay with me, Dean_.'

Though Dean feels like a coward for accepting the free pass Sam's offering him, he's a grateful coward. Fights hard to not bypass the bag Sam's offering him and go in for a brotherly hug, because this…Sam's understanding, his little brother's lack of criticism for his weakness, it means more to him than Sam will ever know.

Coming forward, he takes the proffered bag from Sam, settles it on his shoulder and meets Sam's eyes. Sam doesn't say anything but his eyes convey his relief and his contentment at Dean's decision. Then, together, they begin the trek back to where they left the Impala yesterday, with every intention of being out of the forest before the sun goes down.

But the fates apparently weren't on Sam's side because it's not ten minutes into their trek when the unexpected sound of voices carry to them.

Turning to Sam, Dean challenges with a mixture of accusation and frustration, "We're the only souls out here, huh, Sam?"

Irritably, Sam heaps inaudibly curses on the campers who were approaching because, with the arrival of possible victims for the Wendigo, he knew that his odds of getting Dean to leave the forest just went to nil.

SNSNSNSNSN

Tbc

SNSNSNSNSN

Now you didn't actually think it would be that easy for the boys to quit on a hunt, did you? (Yeah, I didn't think I could fool you.)

Thanks for reading and for the wonderful words of support you guys bestowed on me!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3: Back to Back

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

SNSNSNSN

Chapter 3: Back to Back

SNSNSNSN

_Rule # 3: Never let your back unguarded when a pack comes looking for a snack._

SNSNSNSN

The group of four, three men and one woman, that they encounter a few yards along the trail doesn't fit the stereotype of campers _or_ hikers. Are an incongruent mixture of personalities, seem more thrown together like some Survivor show cast rather than them choosing to be together.

The man who introduces himself first, Mac, has the bearing a leader and seems comfortable in his present environment. Dean notes that, though the man's blond hair, which is almost as long as Sam's, and handsome features make him seem younger than he is, it's his eyes that give away his true age, reflect experience. His movements, however, are lithe and he didn't seem to mind that the pack on his back probably tops out at fifty pounds.

Mac presents the rest of his party to Sam and Dean like they were about to form longtime friendships. Vicki, the long haired brunette is beautiful even with her hair simply pulled back in a ponytail and with understated makeup, earns Dean's most charismatic smile. But unlike Mac, she seems uneasy in the woods and her clothing looks brand spanking new…straight from an LL Bean catalog.

The second man, Zeke, is the oldest of the group and also the friendliest with a ready smile and a firm handshake. He has brown hair, strong features that carry his age well and eyes that seem to take measure of Dean and Sam with a glance. Surprisingly, he doesn't seem to hate what he finds. It didn't take much of Sam's imagination to picture the man in an army uniform in his younger days.

The remaining 'camper', had a crew cut, was only an inch shorter than Sam, bore a military tattoo on his forearm and has a rifle slung over his shoulder. He doesn't allow Mac to introduce him, overrides the leader's "And this is…" with a brisk declaration of his name. "Ivan." And he pointedly ignores Sam's outstretched hand, keeps his eyes glued to Dean in some primal alpha male challenge. Which Sam didn't like one bit.

But Dean simply returns Ivan's scrutiny with his fakest smile. "You're the tree hugger in the group, right? Eat bark and worms?"

Sam nearly smirks. Yup, that was his brother for him, always loving to poke the bear.

When Ivan takes a menacing step toward Dean, it is Zeke who puts a hand on his man's chest and holds back his charge. Good naturedly, Zeke admits, "Nope, that would be me. Ivan's more the shoot first, ask questions later, type."

Dean raises his eyebrows, drawls out a mocking, "Really" like he's surprised by that description but the look in his eyes says otherwise. He recognizes a fellow hot head in Ivan.

"Why don't you try me?" Ivan dares but he makes no move to break Zeke's hold on him.

"Maybe later," Dean postponed before he brazenly winks at Ivan.

Not waiting for Ivan to go postal, Sam roughly grabs Dean by the elbow, swings him around to face him and gives Dean his most pointed look of '_stop pissing off this guy'_. To which Dean rolls his eyes but yields, sort of. Does it by ignoring Ivan all together and walking up to Mac. "So, we didn't expect to see anyone else out here this time of year."

Coming to stand at Dean's shoulder, Sam tacks on, "Yeah, especially with the recent cases of missing persons and bear attacks," a reproachful edge to his tone because, yeah, he's pissed that the foursome's stupid enough to be out there. That their poor decision meant Dean wouldn't leave the forest, not until either the Wendigo was dead or he got this group out of the forest safely.

Dean shot Sam a surprised look, hadn't heard Sam use that type of tone on anyone for a long while, isn't sure why these strangers suddenly earned his little brother's wrath. But Sam's jaw is tight and his brother purposefully isn't meeting his gaze, is instead searing Mac with a penetrating look that he usually unleashes only in his FBI persona and to convicted murderers.

Mac opens his mouth to make a reply but it is Ivan who steps to Mac's side and jeeringly says, "Oh, so you're booking out of here because you're _scared_ of Yogi the bear?"

"Yogi ain't the worse thing out here," Dean gruffly shoots back.

"Actually we're counting on that," Ivan retorts with condescension, apparently letting something slip that Mac disapproves of because the blond leader is suddenly chatty.

"So, were you two heading back to civilization? We're going to perform some experiments, study some of the indigenous animal life. Figure we'll be camping a week. Were you guys out here for just recreational purposes?"

Dean's smile is one of his fakest. "Yup. Just love me some nature."

Though Dean's comment isn't meant for him, Sam feels like the deception partly is. Because if he hadn't noticed Dean's squirrely behavior, Dean would have never admitted his unease in the woods, would still be playing tough guy. And the fact that Dean thought he needed to don that façade, _with him_, it still isn't sitting right with Sam. Leaves him wondering how many other places, things, happenings, set Dean on edge, that his brother will never bother to mention to him. '_Dean, how am I supposed to help you when you never let me know when you __need__ help?!'_

"Maybe you want to join our party," the unexpected offer, it doesn't come from Mac. Zeke had sidled up to the foursome, slipped that invitation into the small beat of lull in the conversation. Sam read the flash of anger in Mac's tightened features and Ivan's incredulousness.

If Dean noted either reaction, he didn't care. "Thought you would never ask," he readily agrees.

SNSNSNSNSN

With Zeke purposefully stationing himself to bring up the rear of their entourage, Sam finds himself pacing Dean in the second to last position. Shooting a look to his brother, Sam ignores Dean's silent head jerk ordering him to go chat up Mac. Instead he stays resolutely at Dean's side because his brother is his main priority. And he hasn't missed Dean's hyper vigilance, the way his eyes snap from one side of the woods to the other, as if he expects something to come tearing out at them any second.

**SNSNSNSNSN – **_**Purgatory**_** - SNSNSNSNSN**

Unlike Wendigos, the werewolves travelled in packs and they weren't interested in having left overs for later. Would sometimes howl, just to unnerve their prey but most times, they just burst through the woods with cheetah-like speed, snarling, snapping teeth, red eyes, and insatiably hunger. Then they would tackle their prey to the ground, pin them there with their paws and sink their teeth into the savory tang of blood and bone and flesh.

Such packs made Dean concede to the notion that there was an advantage to traveling with a vampire whose heightened senses gave them an edge.

So when Benny suddenly stopped, reached out and wrapped a hand around Dean's bicep to stop the human, Dean didn't say a word, simply looked to Benny, waited for the vampire to tell him who was coming for dinner.

"Werewolves," Benny lowly supplied, hand tightening on the enchanted knife Dean had given to him, eyes on the woods as he slowly swiveled. "They're circling us." As he assumed the stance Dean had taught him, his fear settled down.

Feeling the reassuring presence of Benny's back against his, Dean knew that they were about to make their stand, together. That they were once again set to take on all comers.

Dean vaguely wondered when he had come to trust a vampire to defend his life. Had no time to dwell on it before the werewolves were on them.

**SNSNSNSNSN – Present – SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Dean's lost in his own head space again and Sam would let him to it..if he didn't know in his gut that whatever his brother is thinking about is worse than the here and now. "Dean? Dean?" he tentatively beckons but there's no reaction from Dean, not even a breaking of his unblinking stare out into the woods. Deciding it's time for hands on, Sam jostles Dean's arm..like he used to when he was a kid and was begging Dean to get some candy. But Dean's not snapping out of it, is locked in that thousand yard stare, doesn't even register that his zombie walk has been halted.

Fear slithers down Sam's spine and his hand unconsciously tightens on Dean's arm. For the first time, he can imagine how Dean felt when the roles were reversed, when it was him trapped in Hell memories, having friggin' seizures. Starkly, he knows that if Dean suddenly drops, starts convulsing, he won't handle it well, will probably lose it, right there in front of the four strangers. His desperation that Dean doesn't slip that far away from him has him initiating an intimate contact that, under normal circumstances, Dean would never allow.

Stepping in front of Dean, Sam cups Dean's face in his right hand, his other hand has a possessive grip on Dean's jacket. "Dean, hey," he entreats, not willing to use force to get Dean to face him. "Dean, come on, you're starting to scare me," he tries to cajole Dean back to him, his voice cracking, showing that he's undersold the fear he's feeling. But Dean didn't blink, didn't seem to register he's there with him, that he's not locked yet in Purgatory.

Releasing Dean's jacket, Sam's other hand brackets the other side of Dean's face and Sam shifts so he's filling Dean's line of sight. "Hey, come back to me," he urgently beckons. But when Dean's eyes remain unseeing, Sam, with all traces of strength gone, only desperation remaining, chokes out, "Dean…please."

Sam's not sure if it was the 'please' or the signs that his little brother was about to go all to pieces, but something breaks through to Dean, has his brother finally blinking, allowing the scales to fall from his eyes and the warmth returns as they settle on Sam, see Sam for the first time in minutes. When that warmth slips away, Sam hopes it's because Dean puts it away, that Dean didn't like being that open, not with Sam and certainly not in the presence of strangers.

Without a word, Dean pulls Sam's hands down from his face. Then, releasing his grip on his brother's wrists, he steps back, rebuilds his mental walls that he didn't even remember lowering.

Sam's not sure if he wants to throw a punch or simply throw up, wonders if either reaction would tell Dean how all this was effecting him, seeing Dean so…vulnerable, lost. Wonders if Dean _cares_ that its tearing him up, if showing Dean proof of that would do something to negate his earlier seemingly cold indifference to his brother's return to the land of the undead, his selfish remark when his brother boldly declared that he was happiest with him by his side. He doubts it. His own words were too brutal to be undone by a few worried gestures.

Dean seems to demonstrate that by walking away, seeking the company of strangers rather than his own brother's. And Sam lets him go. Hates that there's been an audience, not for his show of worry for Dean but for Dean's lapse. But as he turns to that audience of one, Zeke isn't snorting at the crazy antics of the travelers he foolishly invited on their trip, instead is offering up a look of pained sympathy.

Zeke flanks him as they resume their progress, speaks quietly so his voice won't travel to the other members of their band. "I've been where he is. After three tours in Vietnam, I was the poster child for PTS. Zoned out, lost track of time, couldn't eat or sleep…wouldn't talk to anybody about it because…." Here Zeke shook his head, ruefully says, "Come on, I lived through hell. What did I have to complain about back in the States, right? The days were _too_ sunny, the grocery story had _too _many food choices, people weren't trying to _kill me_? It was Disneyland compared to what I'd been through."

"How did you ….adjust?" Sam earnestly asks, his voice moderated like Zeke's has been.

"You mean _after_ I nearly blew my own head off?" Zeke sardonically quips, before he realizes it isn't the smartest comment to make to the brother of someone going through what he had.

Sam feels the blood drain from his face. He can't imagine the strong, put-together man before him contemplating suicide. Makes it too easy to think Dean could be thinking along the same lines.

"My advice…don't let it get that bad for him," Zeke states, wishes he had better advice, like how Sam could to head things off at the pass for his brother. "It's a long hard road to climb back from that type of fall. And that's if you know something worthwhile is waiting for you. Best thing you can do, don't let him go through it alone." And he squeezes Sam's shoulder and nods his head to Dean's solitary figure, wading his own way through the forest to the right of the line of campers.

Sam doesn't need any more prompting to break away and once again gain his brother's side.

Giving Sam a glance, Dean can practically read his brother's mind, knows Sam thinks he's about to start howling at the moon or mumbling crazy phrases over and over again. '_Yeah, because you've given him no reason to think you're off your rocker_.' And he's pissed at himself for being that weak, for having almost gone running from the forest …for almost letting four innocents venture into monsterland to become a Wendigo snack.

When Sam's shoulder 'mistakenly' bumps into his own because Sam thinks he needs to be glued to his side, Dean grouses, "Dude, I'm about to issue a restraining order against you. Go chat up Mac, find out what they're really doing out here."

"What happened to '_when it's you and me it's all good_.' That you're at your best when you're hunting and I'm beside you?" Sam replies, hopes Dean's own words boomeranged back at him can close in the gap between them.

But Dean's eyes are dark as they dart to him. "Like you said, I do fine on my own, hacking and killing with not explanations needed."

Finding it nearly impossible to fight against Dean's comeback, Sam growls, "When are you going to stop throwing my own words back at me?"

"When they stop hurting me!" Dean shouts back but immediately he regrets his honesty, not only because it makes him sound pathetic but because of the sudden hurt in Sam's eyes.

But Sam's hurt soon morphs into anger, because he wasn't the only one who said wounding things. "Right..like you trying to replace me as your brother with a friggin' vampire didn't hurt me?!"

Dean's gaze turns glarier instead of repentant. "You have no right to be jealous when you clearly don't want the position anymore."

"What?! Are you crazy, Dean?!"

"According to your new buddy Zeke, that's not really up for debate, is it?"

Sam pales, had thought no one could overhear that conversation. "Dean…he's…been through stuff, like you have." He's not expecting Dean to stop, to level his most daunting look on him.

"Yeah, and what have I been through, Sam? Break it down for me, point out what caused my train to not go to all the stations anymore?"

Sam cinches his mouth closed, knows it's a trap, that Dean wants him to admit that he doesn't know what Dean's been through. Has asked, repeatedly, but hasn't been granted that trust from Dean.

Staring at Sam's terse features, Dean gives a bitter snort and nods his head. "Eloquent theory, Sammy."

And it just infuriates Sam, that Dean shuts down whenever he asks about Purgatory and is angry when he tries to let him keep things close to his chest. He couldn't win, no matter the path he chose. Couldn't _help_…and that is so much worse. "You wanna know why I've been so adamant to get out of the hunting life?!"  
Not sparing a look to Sam, Dean's reply is instantaneous, like he's already planned the answer out in his head before Sam ever had the guts to ask it. "'Cause you hate being stuck with me, 'cause you still think normal is something you deserve, that saving other people's lives is a waste of your talents. You _enjoyed_ simply reading the paper, seeing the weird crap that was going on and just carelessly cataloguing what it was. Then you put it out of your mind, crawled into bed that night and slept the sleep of the just."

"Why can't you just see things from my prospective for a change!" Sam spat turning to face Dean, couldn't believe Dean actually thought that about him.

"Truth hurts, huh, Sammy?" Dean goads, waits for Sam to stalk off…but he doesn't. Sam remains stubbornly at his side, is pissed off, yeah, but isn't going anywhere, isn't taking the walking papers Dean gave to him on a silver platter. He decides to try and brush Sam's focus off him with other tactics. "Why don't you try your luck with Vicki," he suggests, his tone strategically light. "She might be charmed into trying out tall, dark and handsome. Though I think she's got a thing for the Professor. Does that make her Ginger or Maryann?"

But Dean observes that Sam's jaw isn't unclenching and his little brother's still fuming, is shaking his head, probably in disbelief at the jerk he got saddled with for a brother. But Sam stays where he is, at that same brother's side. Stays because he probably can sense what Dean wishes he didn't: That he's off his game out here, skittish and paranoid….and afraid. Afraid that, like Benny once proposed, he's been living in a dream, that he never left Purgatory, that Sam…he isn't real. That any second, something will come out of the trees and rip his throat out, end him once and for all.

And Dean's not ready to give up the dream, not ready to concede and accept that Sam's not real, that none of this is, that Sam's really off somewhere with a girl and a dog and a house payment…and doesn't miss him at all. Is secretly glad he's free to be normal, to have normal. That where ever Dean's at, Sam doesn't wish him back again.

Though he's pissed, Sam's not blind, senses the change in Dean, the sudden tension ebbing off his brother, the harsher intake and outtake of his brother's breaths. And his anger at Dean, it doesn't mean his heart's not clenching in worry, in sympathy, in pain at the signs of his brother's emotional distress. And he only hesitates a moment before he thinks, '_I'm already in the dog house with Dean, what's it matter if he doesn't like what I do next.' _

Then, before he chickens out, Sam throws his free arm over Dean's shoulder. He pretends not to notice when Dean jolts at the contact and his brother's startled eyes snap up to his. Not backing down, he pulls Dean against him in an affectionate, easy hug and warmly jeers, "I don't hate being stuck with you, Idjit. I wouldn't keep saving your butt all the time if I did." Because saying, '_I was more lost when you're weren't around than you are right now_' and '_Sometimes, when you lose someone who's more important to you than your own life, it's worse than having the most serious case of PTS, makes being dead more appealing than being alive,_' might not be something Dean is ready to accept from him yet.

"Dude, you do not have to save my butt '_all the time'_" Dean protests, retaliates by elbowing Sam in the gut and drawing back. And when Sam starts to pull his arm off his shoulders, he doesn't flinch when his brother's fingers give an affectionate squeeze to the back of his neck before sliding free, unknowingly mooring his belief that Sam is real, that the woods around him aren't Purgatory and that he can stop reaching for the knife in his belt, expecting something hungry to come knocking every time the wind rustles through trees. That sometimes he gets what he wants even when he doesn't deserve it, like Sam there to have his back.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I'm loving every single review!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4: What You Kill

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Ok I wanted to warn you that my Purgatory flashbacks might jump around a bit from here on out, so I hope that's ok. I figure memories are fickle things, pop up when we least want them…and aren't even nice enough to stay in chronological order. Oh and some blood and gore loom ahead, but nothing too graphically described and certainly nothing the show hasn't given us in living color.

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Chapter 4: What You Kill

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_Rule #4: Pray you don't have to eat what you kill._

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Lunch break is pretty extravagant, includes Mac cooking over a propane grill and flipping out hamburgers for them all. Dean waves off the offer of a burger but Sam's already passing it to Dean. Sam hasn't forgotten Dean's meager lunch and non-existent dinner the day before.

When Dean doesn't take the paper plate garnished with the burger in hand, Sam pointedly sits the plate on Dean's thigh, making turning it down a non-option. His own burger he readily accepts then scrapes the onions onto Dean's plate. Leaning over to Dean, he quietly says, "Extra onions, just like you like it."

Aware that Sam's intently watching him, is waiting for him to partake of his burger before he'll eat his own, Dean fights down a sigh, wishes, not for the first time, that he wouldn't always buckle under to his little brother's manipulative tactics. Then with more determination than anticipation, he picks up the hamburger and takes a small bite, is pleasantly surprised when the taste is something he recognizes, that he likes. That he's not choking down a gag at the thought of what the "meat" used to be.

**SNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSSNSNSNSN**

It had become a normal practice, Dean throwing up everything he managed to gag down. But it wasn't like Purgatory offered a lot of menu options. He had tried the zen routine, had chewed on bark and leaves. And he had eadily spit up a black chalky saliva, the soil apparently tainting everything that grew in its less than fertile ground. The "meat" options, he passed on until Benny threatened to force feed him. So they made a pact, if Benny cooked it and swore not to tell him what it was, he would try and get it down.

But his stomach wasn't that tolerant.

Dean had crawled off to throw up behind the nearest tree and Benny grimaced in sympathy. Didn't know how Dean could keep going when he wasn't keeping anything down. But then he realized that an honest to goodness Angel was now in their presence.

Though he had stopped a seemingly concerned Cas from following Dean after the human's abrupt departure after "supper", Benny now turned to the newest member of their traveling troupe and demanded, "Do something to help him."

Cas settled his clueless eyes upon him. "Help him how?"

"Scrounge up something he can eat. Get manna to drop from the heavens or milk and honey to gush from a rock," Benny snapped more than suggested, surprised that he even remembered that much from the Bible stories he heard as a kid.

Cas conversationally disputed Benny's mandates. "God did those miracles, not a mere angel. And the milk will flow from the hills of Jerusalem and the honey didn't come from a rock but …"

"Then what did the angels do?!" Benny cut in with frustration. "Lurk in the shadows, just watch your charges suffer?!" Because he couldn't endure many more days of watching Dean in misery, had hoped, just for a moment there, that the angel had something to bring to their team, cared for Dean enough to whip up a miracle, deserved at least a small percentage of the loyalty Dean had bestowed on him.

He wasn't expecting the angel to react in anger, to slam him against a tree and pin him there, his blue eyes alight with indignation and anguish. "I would do anything to stop Dean's pain."

"Prove it," Benny savagely volleyed back because words, declarations were doing jack for Dean.

And just like that Cas vanished.

Cursing the angel for his ability to bail when things got tough, for using that trick to abandon Dean when they got dumped into Monsterland, Benny let out his breath, shoved down his fury. Unlike Cas, he wouldn't let Dean suffer in misery alone. Going to Dean, who was leaning heavily against a tree, wiping his mouth, Benny settled a hand on his friend's bowed back. "How you holding up, brother?"

"Awesome," Dean deflected Benny's concern, his voice raw.

"They must have changed the meaning of that word since I became fish food," Benny joked but it was forced. There wasn't much humor to be had in light of Dean's wretchedness. "Come on," and he led Dean back to their makeshift camp.

Both men startled when Cas suddenly reappeared, a wooden bowl in hand. "I have gathered everything edible I could find in the nearest vicinity, combined it together. Its consistency isn't comparable to a hamburger but I think you will find its taste not offensive. As for the bowl, I hewed it from a tree. It's a little rough here…" he stated, his fingers running over the uneven bark by his left thumb.

But Benny stopped the angel's commentary by jerking the bowl from Cas' grip and giving it a smell. To his surprise, it didn't reek of anything undead. Reaching out, he lifted Dean's hand and pressed the bowl into the man's grip, nodded, "Go on. Try it."

Dean gave it a sniff…and raised his eyebrows at Cas in amazement.

"Please try it, Dean," Cas entreated, wanted, needed to do something to help Dean, to make up for all the unanswered prayers Dean had uttered to him since their arrival in Purgatory.

Dean took a tentative sip, and closed his eyes, not in revulsion but delight before guzzling down the rest of the porridge in the bowl. He couldn't remember the last meal he had had before getting dumped in Purgatory but Cas' concoction was the best thing he had had since. Even though it was probably something Sam would have ordered at that new agey restaurants with a "free affirmation with each order." '_If I ever get out of here_, _I'm so not telling Sam about this.'_

**SNSNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Shaking his head at the memory, Dean tries to hold back a smirk but apparently doesn't succeed because his brother's giving him a raised eyebrow look of "what". But Dean merely shakes his head in a gesture of 'later' and takes another bite of his burger. But his thoughts go to Cas, of how strange the angel was acting now, about his inexplicable escape from Purgatory.

Sam breaks into his thoughts. "It's good, right?" nodding toward the burger in Dean's hands.

And Dean would have to be blind to miss the worry in his brother's gaze. Worry for him. Taking a huge bite, Dean talks with his mouth open to annoy Sam. "This is awesome for camp food."

Sam winces in disgust but is laughing as he responds, "Ok, that's gross."

Dean gives him a big closed-mouthed smile.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean doesn't believe in coincidences and even if he did, he wouldn't buy that fairytale this time. Not when the geek squad decides to make camp practically at ground zero for the wendigo attacks. As soon as the tents are up, he and Sam steal away, wait until they are out of earshot of the others before they turn to each other and simultaneously say: "You know where we're at?"

They fall silence in synch too when they realize that they are on the same page, had been without having to say a word.

"So it isn't a coincidence this is where they set up shop for their _experiment_," Dean states, putting air quotes around the last word.

"Not likely," Sam agrees grimly, doesn't think it signifies anything good. "I'm guessing that their experiment is to find the cause for the attacks and the disappearances."

"Pretty stupid experiment then," Dean censoriously grumbles.

"Dean…" Sam admonishes, wishes Dean could see the world like he does once in a while.

"What?!" Dean indignantly shoots back. "Sam, they're about to try to study a supernaturally strong cannibal whose only thought is stocking up on campers for a long winter's snack."

"Yeah, but they don't know that," Sam heatedly points out, can't help but feel a little bit of a connection with what Mac and his team were trying to accomplish.

Falling silent at Sam's defensive tone, Dean wonders if Sam's already accepted his readmission for college, is waiting to tell him he's leaving when he is least expecting it, when he finally thinks Sam's there by his side to stay. Burying that dread, Dean eases up the condemnation levels of his tone as he announces, "Well, we better explain it to them before night fall and our wendigo starts furrowing in the forest to satisfy his midnight munchies."

He's about to brainstorm with Sam on tactics when Vicki's scream shatters the quiet of the forest.

Dean's off before it registers with Sam that he's not properly armed for a wendigo hunt, still has his .45 tucked in his waistband but the flare gun's still in his bag. Hoping Dean's better equipped, he follows Dean's lead, is a bit surprised that Dean has so quickly outpaced him. '_Purgatory…running for his life, Sam. That's where he's been while you were enjoying lazy evenings with Amelia, and leisurely fixing air-conditioners and sinks in the motel_,' he chastises himself, gut clenching at the thought of things chasing Dean, of Dean having to outrun them to survive, of his brother having nowhere safe to run to.

So he's a few seconds behind Dean, arrives on the scene to see that Vicki is on the ground, a wendigo is shrieking in outrage at his dinner plans being interrupted, Dean's lining up his shot at the wendigo with the flare gun and Mac's picking up a fallen branch off the ground. But before Dean's squeezed off his shot, Mac's swinging the branch….at Dean's head.

Sam ends up firing first.

But his bullet's not intended for the wendigo. Instead it grazes Mac's arm, causing the man to lose his grip on the limb he was wielding like a club against his brother.

Dean startles at the gun shot and Mac's consequent cry of pain just behind him. And it's distraction enough for the wendigo to melt back into the woods.

"What the …" Dean begins to demand but Ivan runs into the clearing before he can get all the words out, has a gun of his own, which he points toward Sam. Immediately, Dean gets in Ivan's face, presses the muzzle of the flare gun into Ivan's neck. "Drop your gun!" he lethally commands but Ivan ups the game by jamming his gun barrel into Dean's neck, setting up the perfect Mexican standoff.

Eyes boring into Ivan's as their respective guns hold each other hostage, Dean contemptuously threatens, "I pull this trigger, your head's a Fourth of July show."

But Ivan's not backing down, coolly taunts back, "And you'll be dead before you get the guts to think about ending me."

Having shifted his gun sights from Mac to Ivan the second the ex-solider became a threat to Dean, Sam snarls, "Lower your gun, Ivan, or I swear, I'll kill you before Dean has a chance to." And his finger's on the trigger and he has no intentions of hesitating to kill Ivan, of taking a human life, if the other man's threat to Dean becomes anything less than showboating.

Dean bestows a cocky smile on Ivan even as he pushes the flare gun's barrel harder against Ivan's neck. "Seems parts of you will be in Yogi's next picnic basket, either by my hand or by Sam's. Less you wanna call it a draw."

Before Ivan can make a retort, Zeke enters the fray, calmly stalks right up to the two men entangled in the standoff and deftly removes the barrel from Ivan's gun, making the other man's weapon a paperweight. Cursing, Ivan shoves Dean backwards and turns on Zeke. "Old man, you're soon gonna cross a line with me and you won't like how that ends."

Vicki takes that moment of lowered tension to climb to her feet and fly promptly into Mac's arms. Mac hugs her back, his tone soothing but his words anything but. "Hey, we knew it was going to be in a regressive state, that there was going to be some possible danger."

Vicki nods against his chest, her words coming out muffled. "I know and I shouldn't have reacted like I did. I just…" Then she pulls back to look up at the professor. "It's real, Mac," wonder and fear in her declaration.

Mac unleashes a beaming smile and hugs her hard, spins her around in his arms with a small whoop of joy before setting her back on the ground. Holding her face in his hands, he excitedly says, "We're going to blow the world away with this discovery!"

Having lost the wise fear of her close encounter with something hungry, Vicki starts to match Mac's enthusiasm. "No more worries about grants."

"Or my lost pension," Mac adds, then he's barking orders to Ivan and Zeke about setting up the trap, of getting the tranquillizer gun and the tracking system online. And the two men obediently head back to the established camp.

And Sam and Dean stand back in speechless incredulity. Can't quite accept what's happening. The absurdity of it is too hard to swallow.

As Mac goes to slip by, Dean snags his arm, stops his headlong pace. "I don't know what you think you're trying to do but that thing you just saw, it's not some wild animal you can domesticate. It kills to eat, kills and eats _people_."

"I know exactly what it is and what it was," Mac scoffs with malice. "I've been studying the lore of wendigoes my whole career. And no one ever believed that they were real but soon I'll have the proof that I've been right all these years." Yanking his arm from Dean's grip, he meets Dean's gaze head on. "And I think its time you left us to do our work."

"Your _work_?!" Dean disdainfully repeats, voice rising as he continues, "It'll be your funeral if you stay here."

"Unlike you, we mean it no harm and now it knows that," Vicki states, coming to stand by her man. "It deserves the chance to tell its narrative."

"So what, you gonna invite it over tonight to play cards and tell stories around the campfire?!" Dean incredulously sputters. "It was human…it's not anymore. It's all about feeding. And the only thing it _deserves_ is a good hot, long cremation."

"No, it can be human again," Vicki interjects and Dean turns mocking eyes on her.

"It tell you that when it was eyeing you up for its dinner tonight?"

Vicki has the good grace to blush in shame at her contradictive behavior.

Taking Dean's attack on Vicki personally, Mac gets into Dean's face. "I've seen your type before. You pretend the kill is about protecting others but it's just about the violence. You like ending the life of a living being. Your primal alpha gets let loose…just for a little sunlight. But it's starting to not be enough, is it? You want to be free to solve all your issues with violence, to devalue life…the lives of animals. How long will it be before you think nothing of taking human lives?!"

Dean pales at Mac's perception of him, knows the professor's not off the mark by much, not after Hell, especially not after his time in Purgatory. Doesn't raise a defense for himself, can't. Finds himself looking to Sam, wondering if he'll see Sam nodding his head in agreement, comparing notes with Mac.

It's the shamed acceptance in Dean's eyes that shatters Sam's control, makes his anger boil to the surface. When he steps forward, he feels sick to his stomach when Dean nearly flinches, thinks his anger, the pending violence will be directed at him. And that makes Sam all the angrier.

Bypassing Dean, Sam grabs Mac by the throat and steam rolls him backwards until the other man impacts with a tree. His hand tightens on the man's larynx as he venomously vows, "You don't shut up right now, I'll feed you to the wendigo myself."

But Mac's too jazzed with his discovery to back down, to recognize that the savageness he thought he saw in Dean, it's blazing in Sam's eyes. "Can't big brother even find the words to defend himself? Wonder why that is? Why you have to do it for him?" Then his eyes slid away from Sam and find Dean again. "Too close to the truth, huh?"

Without a word, Dean stalks away.

Sensing Dean's departure rather than witnessing it, Sam is torn between beating the tar out of Mac and going to his brother's side. As usual, brotherly loyalty wins out and he releases his chocking grip on Mac. Pointing a menacing finger at Mac, Sam darkly warns, "Stay away from him."

Hand rubbing his abused neck, Mac jeers, "That for my safety or are you afraid he might admit I'm right and you couldn't stand that."

"You're not right," Sam hisses, fists itching to land a blow.

"Keep telling yourself that," Mac retorts and then he slips out from the tree's barricade and heads back to their camp.

SNSNSNSN

Sam is disappointed but not surprised that Dean's not back at the camp. But there were signs that his brother had been there and gone, namely the fact that their two bags were missing. Sam shoots a look across their camp to Ivan and Zeke who are rummaging through their own bags, intent on the mission Mac sent them on. '_They really think they can hide behind some blinds and snap National Geographic pics of this wendigo. Tag it and study its migration pattern. Or more ludicrous, sit down and talk to the thing, experiment on it, hoping to turn it back to its human form.' _But Sam had stared into the eyes of the Wendigo that had grabbed Dean seven years ago, and there was intelligence there, absolutely, but there was need more, and savagery most of all.

Zeke, sensing his eye contact, looks up, almost appears on the verge of coming over to him, doesn't but shoots him a look of apology. The man's loyalty is well entrenched with Mac and his group. And Sam fears that loyalty will get the man killed, bloody.

Just like he fears that Dean's loyalty to Benny will get his brother killed.

And Sam can't bear that, losing Dean again. Didn't know how he was expected to endure that loss over and over again and not come out on the other side a raving lunatic, something more savage and hate-filled than any monster they ever hunted. Because no one could continually get their heart and soul ripped out and then have them returned in pristine shape, it was impossible. Well, was impossible for him.

And he wishes he could tell Dean that, explain that, every time he left him, by dying or going to hell or disappearing into the darks of purgatory, the Sam he came back to had been changed by his absence, destroyed and rebuilt…with pieces missing. Pieces that Dean had taken with him when he went. Pieces that only Dean could give back to him…but only if Dean could understand the hold he has on his brother. That Sam might go and get a dog and a girl…could win a friggin' ten million lottery but it wasn't going to ever fix what was broken in him…that was his big brother's job.

'_Nice. Be selfish, Sam. Dean's the one who was in Purgatory, not you. He needs your help to deal, not the other way around,'_ Sam rails at himself as he leaves Zeke, Ivan and the camp behind in search of said brother. But part of him knows that, yes, Dean was in one Purgatory…but he had been in another when Dean had vanished. And apparently them both stepping back out of those zones wasn't going to make everything all right again. That, like usual, it would be a struggle, would require time…and something Dean thought he no longer bore for him. What had Dean said? That they always saved each other when they swore that they won't try because "of our deep abiding love for each other…"

'_Well, get ready to suck it up Dean, 'cause you challenged me to prove my 'deep abiding love' for you and I'm going to…even if I get a black eye in the process_,' Sam vows as his instincts and that inexplicable brotherly connection to Dean leads him unerringly to his brother's location in the forest.

Though Dean's crouched down, his back to him, his brother speaks like he knows it's him coming up behind him without having to look. Sam gives a small smile at the reassuring proof that their connection still runs both ways.

"Scratches on the tree here," Dean says as he points to the three gashes in tree bark. "The last wendigo herded us into position with this type of bread crumb trail," his tone indicating his distaste for his past failure and his resolve to not be snookered like that again.

"Yeah and you left your own M&Ms trail," Sam proudly reminds, his brother's genius utterly remarkable in normal circumstances but its presence when Dean had been slung mostly unconscious over a wendigo's shoulders, that was awe-inspiring.

Detecting a note of pride in Sam's voice…pride in him, Dean ventures a glance over his shoulder at Sam, trying to see if this is simply meant as an ego boost to counter Mac's accusations. But Sammy hasn't got his obligatorily sincere face on, seems amused instead.

Sliding Sam's bag off his shoulder, he tosses it in front of Sam before he shrugs, feels a smile make its way across his lips. "I have my moments."

'_Yeah, lots of them_,' Sam wants to say but can't find the courage, simply picks up his bag and watches in silence as Dean stands up, eyes going overhead. Looking for bodies tangled in the trees like Roy had been? He almost follows Dean's line of sight…doesn't though. Has his eyes locked on Dean, on the tension his brother is trying so hard to hide from him. And something far worse…hurt…shame.

And tension in Dean, Sam can endure to witness, the other two things…not so much.

"Dean, Mac thinks he can _tame_ a wendigo?! He hasn't got a **clue** what it takes to do what we do," Sam derisively objects the professor's unfounded and callous assessment of Dean.

But Dean doesn't react, doesn't look at him, starts venturing further south and Sam follows on his heels.

"We'll need to take this thing down before night fall," Dean strategizes, gives a glance to his watch and scowls harder. There isn't a lot of time before dusk. "We need to scout out caves…mines…abandoned hunting shacks…" He nearly runs into Sam when his brother is suddenly in his path, braces himself, not for a physical collision but an emotional one when he sees the troubled yet determined look in his little brother's eyes.

"Just talk to me for a minute, Dean," Sam implores, puts his arms out to his sides when Dean moves to sidestep him. He doesn't miss the jump in Dean's jaw but it's a small victory that Dean stops and meets his gaze, though his eyes are stormy and warn Sam that Dean's not in the mood to be analyzed. Not again.

"Talk about what? That we had our chance to kill the thing five minutes ago and we blew it?!" Dean disgruntledly baits before his face scrunches up in censure. "And what was up with your smart idea to shoot Mac?!"

"I grazed him, Dean," Sam firmly amends before he zealously justifies, "and he was swinging a branch at your head!"

Standing toe to toe with Sam, Dean acidly parries, "You didn't seem to mind when Martin clocked me on the head."

Sam's defense is immediate, so quick, in fact, that it seems rehearsed. "He hit you before I could stop him."

A defense that Dean isn't buying. "Yeah, right. And I bet you duked it out with scrawny Martin and lost about handcuffing me to a radiator, bleeding and concussioned?!" accusation and betrayal ringing in Dean's words.

But Sam's jaw clench is an answer in and of itself.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean darkly snorts as he shoves Sam out of his way and stomps through the woods.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Sam's not certain what he can say in his defense. He had been scared, alright?! Scared that Dean would go to Benny. And he wanted to believe it was about Benny being a possible threat to Dean. But he isn't so sure that that had been his true motive now, was starting to admit that it probably had more to do with him stopping Dean from _**choosing**_ Benny…over him. '_Yeah, that doesn't make me an insecure jerk of a brother.'_

But it did prove that he hadn't sided with Martin _**against**_ Dean.

Taking up pursuit of Dean, Sam reasons, "I wasn't happy with what he did. Dean, he nearly cracked your skull open?! Didn't you think I got over him being dead by Benny's hand pretty quickly?!"

"You run hot and cold these days, hard to judge when something's not normal with you." Then Dean did throwing a look over his shoulder at Sam. "And by the way, in your run for the border back to Amelia, did you ever give a thought to the fact that, of yeah, I have my _brother_ handcuffed to a radiator in a motel room now half way across the country?!"

"Yeah, I did! I called Martin, ordered him to let you go…" Sam defends, but even he knows it's weak, especially considering Martin's the one that sidelined Dean in the hunt in the first place.

Dean snorts, shakes his head and begins walking again. "Right. Like he was going to let me go. More like he would have used me for bait to get Benny to come out of hiding rather than Benny's granddaughter. Lucky for me, I was gone before he got back to the room."

And Sam doesn't have any true justification against Dean's claim, not after how things had turned out with Martin. Didn't think it would do any good to tell Dean that he nearly took Martin's head off when the other hunter had hit Dean, that he had ached to wipe away the blood slipping down Dean's face, to patch up his brother's wound ..but didn't, couldn't, not with Martin there, watching, and not when Sam knew in his gut that Dean would be even more pissed if he woke up bearing signs that Sam had been concerned, had cleaned away the blood and treated the wound. No, his concern in the face of his perceived betrayal would have only dug the trench between them deeper.

'_Yeah, because it's not deep now, is it_?' Sam scathingly taunts to himself, afraid that the longer he and Dean talk things out, the worst things might get. But he's not giving up, can't give up, not on them, never on Dean. So he falls silent but maintains only a few pace distance behind Dean, shakes his head when he realizes he's more honed in on his brother than the forest, than the signs of a wendigo, a wendigo that could come at them any moment.

But he's prepared now, has the flare gun in his bag. Thinking that, he bends down and starts rummaging through the bag…with no success. "The flare gun…it's missing."

"I gave it to Zeke," Dean announces, prepares for the Sammy fallout. '_One…two_….'

"What!? Dean they're the only weapons we have against this thing?!"

"I still have mine," Dean tightly reminds Sam before his brother breaks into a full-out fit.

"You know better than to limit our defenses?!" Sam scolds, can't understand what Dean was thinking, making them more vulnerable than they already were!?

Infuriated by Sam's condemning tone, by his brother's belief that he's an idiot and that Sam knows best, Dean swings around to face Sam, jeers, "You're more the pacifist anyway, right Sam? Hunting's not really your thing any more."

"When have I not had your back!? I'm here, I'm with you. I was even the one who picked this friggin' hunt, Dean!" Sam shouts, can't believe he has to defend himself every moment of every day. To Dean. To the person who knows him better than anyone else. That he _thought_ knew him best. But maybe he had been wrong..about a lot of things.

Dean's smile is humorless and cold. "Yeah, and I'm loving the locale. Like home sweet home…" Goes to turn away, isn't prepared to have Sam's fist connect with his jaw. The blow stumbles him but doesn't take him down, has his wide shocked eyes flying up to meet Sam's.

Pointing an accusing finger at Dean, Sam sharply declares, "I would have never brought you here had I known it would trigger Purgatory memories for you! And if you don't know that …." Sam stops there, his throat and eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. Because if Dean didn't know that, didn't know that he wouldn't put him through the rehashing of Purgatory, didn't know that he was trying to do everything in his power to help Dean deal with his year in that place…then what was left to their bond, their brotherhood.

Dean felt like the biggest fool. Sam hadn't known about the forest thing, hadn't known because he hadn't told him. Didn't want to tell him. Had been hurt by Sam's seeming disinterest in where he had blipped off to after killing Dick, yeah, but he also didn't want Sam to see what he had become in Purgatory…that Mac's words…they were right on the money. Devaluing life? Ending the life of a living being? That had been his go-to motto. Came _easily_ to him. Like Alistair's lessons on torture had. Were natural to him. To who he was, _what _he was.

And none of that was Sam's fault, was Sam's to fix. '_No, it's my guilt to bear._'

"Sammy…I'm sorry," Dean hoarsely stutters, even as he knows the words are meaningless in comparison to all the accusations he's heaped on his brother's head since his return. "I…you didn't know. Couldn't know and I…This isn't your fault…where we are, that I can't…" Dean derogative scoffs, "Can't keep my crap together. But I can hunt this thing, that I can do," he swears, needs Sam to know he's not a total headcase, that he's worth something here, in this environment. That he might be crap in the brotherhood department but he's a grade A hunter. He still has that. Can still kill with the worst of them.

Sam nearly chokes out a sob because it's so wrong that Dean thinks he gives a crap about the wendigo, about the hunt, even about the four innocents set to be cured and canned by a monster. And it can't go on, he can't let things go unsaid. "I don't care about the hunt, Dean. I care about you," and there's no recriminations in his tone, instead there is only devotion and fear and unvarnished honesty. All the things Dean doesn't deal well with, hides from, deflects because he doesn't think he's worthy of any of them.

Now's not any different, Sam can see that, knows a denial is coming, a crass rejoinder because Dean's wearing that stunned, uncomfortable, vulnerable look and is starting to shuffle on his feet, is unconsciously moving away from him and Sam can't have that.

Reaching out, he snags Dean's forearm, forestalls Dean's escape. Restates what he wants, needs Dean to come away with. "I care about you, Dean."

His voice raw, Dean protests his brother's declaration, the intelligence of it. "Sammy…"

But Sam guts him with a closed mouth, sad but determined smile as he vows, "I care about you more than I'm ever going to care about anyone else….or some dog I hit and nurtured back to health," he jokingly tacks on, sees Dean's pale attempt at a smile that doesn't begin to reach his brother's eyes. "Colossally more than I'll ever care about some bunch of idiot scientists looking for a National Inquirer story on Wendigos." And though not finishing the hunt would be fine with him, he knows Dean would never condone it. "So I say I go get the flare gun _back _from Zeke and we finish this hunt, together, and then get out of here."

And when Dean says nothing, simply stares at him, Sam fears that his words haven't been enough, that Dean's still in some denial of how he feels about him. When Dean moves, Sam tightens the grip he's still maintaining on Dean's arm, not willing to let Dean go, not before they understand one another. But Dean's not trying to get away from him…is instead pulling out Ruby's knife…and offering it to him.

"It worked on every monster in Purgatory. I figure wendigos won't be the exception," Dean reasons, hopes Sam will accept his small, probably ineffectual peace offering.

But Sam's as gracious as he's always been, takes the knife in hand and gives Dean a look of affection and contentment. And if Dean wasn't such a softy himself, he would be chastising Sam for being such an emotional pushover. After all, it was a knife he was offering, not a BFF bracelet.

Then Sam's bypassing him, is taking lead. "According to the maps, there are some old trapper cabins few miles south of here." But when Sam didn't hear the crunch of Dean's footstep behind him, he stops and turns around, sees Dean hasn't moved. "You coming with me or you going to try and take **your** shot with Vicki, who, by the way, is more Maryann than Ginger. Which means more analytical and less trampy. Ssooo not your type."

Dean snorts at his brother's statement, because it's kinda true. And it's heartening that Sam can know so much about him…and is still choosing to stick around . "I like analytical," he counters but laughs out loud at Sam's over the top disbelieving look. And it's a sound he never made in Purgatory and he can't help but wonder if that's only because Sam wasn't there with him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the support of my lovely reviewers!

And kudos for all of you who knew there was something fishy with the four 'campers'! Seriously, wanting to befriend a Wendigo…they make Martin seem sane.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5: Getting the Upper Hand

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

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Chapter 5: Getting the Upper Hand

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_Rule # 5: Survival's not about getting the upper hand, it's about the depths you'll go just to see another day. _

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The first cabin's a pass but the next one they strike gold…or rather the unsightly and putrid smell of rotten flesh. Dean kicks in the door and barrels into the gloomy interior, behind him Sam gags, is as close to losing his lunch as he's ever been on the job. But he stumbles in, refuses to leave Dean's back unguarded.

The smell inside the small shack burns Sam's nostrils, hits his gut like acid.

Beside him, Dean is indifferent to the wretched odor of death.

Dean's visual search comes up goose eggs on a Wendigo. But the creature hadn't bothered to clean up his dinner table yet. Redirecting his flashlight's beam, Dean studies the three bodies dangling from the ceiling beams. Though Sam, with his shirt pulled up and held over his nose, is stepping forward, is going to see if any of the three hanging bodies bear life, Dean knows it's a lost cause. Knows death came for them already.

"All dead," Sam reports, turns to see Dean using the barrel of his gun to turn over bones on the table, lift up papers. The bodies nor the smell are fazing Dean. And that is troubling, has Sam recalling Dean's words about Purgatory_. _

"_I remember the heat, the stink, the pain, the fear. I remember every second."_

When Dean speaks, it gives Sam an opportunity to shy away from that horrible truth. "Looks like he's not the kind to savor, went and downed these guys…and I think gal…" Dean says using the gun to point to the corpses, "..like there's no winter coming. So he's going to need more." Pointedly looking at Sam now, knows Sam can see where this is leading to: the Wendigo on his way back to the mad professor's merry band.

As cold-hearted as it is, Sam is reluctant to leave, to give up their advantage. They knew where the thing's lair was now, could wait right there for it to come back and end it on the door step. No more traipsing through the woods, no more interaction with Mac and group, just kill it and put the forest in their rearview mirror.

But he knows as well as Dean that if they stay at the cabin, the Wendigo wouldn't be returning home empty handed. It would most likely have one or more of Mac's study group in hand…maybe even already with their necks snapped or them bleeding out. That should sway Sam more than it does, the thought of innocent lives being lost.

His eyes, however, drift up to the dangling corpses. Cruelly, his mind replaces their forms with Dean's…remembers the terror of seeing his brother's body dangling from the cave, his brother's eyes closed, his brother's body….not moving. Recalls his thoughts then…that he had just lost Jess, that he couldn't lose Dean too….that if Dean were gone, there was no reason for him to go on.

Surprised to see that it's Sam whose attention is transfixed on the corpses, Dean crosses the distance that separates him from Sam. Putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, he notes that Sam doesn't jump at the contact but sighs and shuts his eyes, like his touch is a balm, offers reassurances Sam desperately needs. "Hey, you alright?" Dean gently asks, knows that its tough, seeing death like this…well, it should be, for someone not desensitized to it, someone who didn't just spend a solid year up to his neck in death. '_Heck, more like a lifetime of it.'_

Dean's touch, Dean's voice, it all helps, allows Sam to give a nod, to open his eyes, to see the corpses and be certain none of them are Dean. Not this time. '_Not yet_.' Because that was the thing with Dean being back from the dead, now Sam had to live with that dread again. ..that Dean would die again. And never come back to him.

Sheepishly he shoots a glance to Dean, "Sorry. I guess my wussy, pacifist side is showing," he tries to joke, make light of the lost moment to his fears.

But there's no condemnation in Dean's eyes as they leave Sam's and travel up to the corpses. "Don't apologize for feeling something, Sammy."

And Sam is starting to get good at reading Dean's reactions. "Guess this is mild compared to what was around every corner in Purgatory, huh?"

**SNSNSNS~ Purgatory~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Dean stumbled to a stop, stooped over, braced his hands on his knees and struggled to ease the painful burn in his lungs from the ten mile run he, Cas and Benny had just done to keep ahead of the four different pair of vetalas looking for the sweet meat of a human hide. Though Benny had endurance on his side, he was still winded. Cas, however, wasn't even breathing heavy, was patiently waiting for his companions to renew their strengths. It gave him time to notice something just ahead, hanging from a tree.

"Dean," Cas tersely said, trusting Dean to know how to handle the new discovery.

Cas' tone setting him on edge, Dean quickly followed Cas' line of sight…to the bodies hanging from the trees, like a scene from a Western. Pushing aside his exhaustion, Dean stood upright, stumbled more than walked his first step, didn't remark as Benny gripped his arm and steadied him. Then, side by side, the human and vampire approached the corpses.

There were twelve humanoid bodies dangling from the branches of three trees, bodies that were drained of their blood and most of their meaty flesh was lost, either by cuts from a knife …or teeth. Dean had seen bodily desecration like this before: in Hell. Had personal experience with it…his own body under Alistair's skillful hands…and other helpless souls under his own, novice but just as ruthless, hands.

Reaching out, Benny stopped the swaying of one of the corpses. "I heard tell of a vampire pack that takes the blood of its vics and barters off the rest of the spoils. Leader's a real entrepreneur. Guess he's one of those, 'rather reign in hell than serve in heaven' types."

'_Like me_,' Dean silently compared and it wasn't a welcome thought, that someone with the capacity for that level of brutality was in Purgatory, could be stalking them right then. "I have a bad feeling about this. Let's get going."

"We're in Purgatory, brother. You ever get a good feeling in this place and I'll start to think you snapped," Benny morbidly joked, shooting a smile to Dean. But Dean's face wasn't cracking a smile and Benny read a grimness, a fear in his friend that he rarely saw. It was enough to rejuvenate his energy. "Alright then. We move out."

But the threesome hadn't gone more than a mile before Benny sensed a vampire pack behind them. Grabbing Dean's wrist, he halted their head long pace. Cas came up just as short when he sensed his companions were slowing. Eyes meeting Dean's, Benny warned, "They are coming up fast. After the day of running we've had, chances of us outpacing them ain't good, Dean."

Grimly, Dean pulled out his Purgatory forged knife. "Guess we stand and fight then, give them the old tried and true welcome party."

Cas didn't protest the decision, knew that, though he could "blip" out of the danger zone, taking Dean or Benny with him had proven too much strain for him. So he stood with Dean, knew they made a strange mini- line of defense: a human, a vampire and an angel.

Hand flexing on the handle of the knife, Dean was geared up to go mano-a-mano against however many vamps walked from the shadows…until the leader of the vampire pack stepped into the meager light. "Oh crap," he muttered under his breath, felt more than saw the anxious look Benny shot him at his rare show of dread.

"When I heard a human was in Purgatory, my first thought was '_Good, I'd have another crack at little Sammy',_" Gordon Walker greeted, his white human teeth gleaming as he took in the sight of the elder Winchester.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Dean returned, his smug smile attesting that he was anything but sorry he was there facing off with the hunter-turned-vampire instead of Sam.

If Benny had a heart-rate, he knew it would be going off the meter, because whoever this vamp was, whatever situation they were ensnared in, it had Dean rattled. And Dean didn't _get_ rattled. Sensing the malice building in the black man, malice that was all being directed toward, Benny silently cursed and protectively shifted closer to Dean.

"I still remember the taste of your blood, Dean," Gordon claimed, advancing toward Dean, his smile still in place, like it was a fond memory, one he was interested in reliving..or repeating. Then, nearly soundlessly, his pack of eighteen vampires stepped from the gloom to flank him. "And I remember how it felt when your little brother severed my head from my body…" his smile fell away, was replaced by an expression promising brutal retribution as he qualified," … with barb wire."

"Good times," Dean cockily rasped, eyes glittering, hand tightening on the knife handle, heart pounding, waiting.

Eyes holding Dean's, Gordon could see that Purgatory hadn't broken Winchester, had somehow only made him stronger. And that was Ok with him. He didn't want their battle to be too unfair, wanted Dean to put up a good fight, not die too soon, especially before he could enjoy himself. "This time, your brother's not here to save you from me, Dean," Gordon taunted.

"But I am," Benny piped in, showing his vampire fangs for the first time, proving that, unlike Dean, **he **was on Gordon's level of play.

Gordon accepted the revelation of Benny's vampirism with a calm nod of his head, like it made some kind of sense to him.

"You always had a soft spot for the monsters…like little Sammy," Gordon said a moment later with a sardonic smirk.

"Bad news for you is, I still have standards, so I'm not friending you on Facebook," Dean quipped, eyes slipping to Gordon's vamp groupies, noting that they were obedient to Gordon to a fault, were waiting for the black man's signal before they pounced.

Amused, Gordon shook his head, smiled. "Dean, still with the smart mouth."

Grinning, Dean boasted, "Couldn't give up one of my best traits."

At Dean's side, Benny drawled, "Personally, Dean, I like your good judge of character," the insult to Gordon clear.

But Gordon wasn't one to lose his temper, was cold hearted and meticulous. "My Dean, your new buddy is like a clone of you…except for the teeth. What will Sammy say about being replaced? Or wait? Did someone give him what he deserved? His guts ripped out."

"I've gotta pop your bubble on that one. Sammy's alive and well." At least that was what Dean kept telling himself, over and over again, that his brother was still alive and, somehow, he would get back to him. Of course, he could only keep that vow if he didn't let Gordon drink him dry.

Gordon theatrically sighed. "Oh, well. Guess my consolation prize is getting to take my time and enjoy your pain, hearing you scream."

Dean snorted derogatorily. "Good luck with that Gordy. I spent forty years in Hell. Anything you can dish out…it'll be school-yard tactics compared to what I've been through."

Head swiveling to Dean, Benny was unable to mask his shock at Dean's confession. _Hell. Forty years_. It explained a lot. Too much. It made his stomach churn, just guessing what his friend had been put through there. '_No wonder he's managed to stay alive here and hasn't gone all Loony Tunes in the process.'_

Gordon wasn't looking so brazen after Dean's admission. "Hell. Thought that was more Sammy's final resting place than yours."

"Wasn't final," Dean brashly corrected.

"Yeah, I can see that. So now you're in our little universe here. Not sure it's much of an upgrade."

Dean's smile was savage. "Let's just say, roaming free and having a fighting chance, it sure beats being strapped to a torture rack for all of eternity, any day of the week."

Gordon nodded, like he actually had some familiarity in that comparison. "So what, Hell didn't even want you? That says a lot about your soul."

Suddenly Cas vanished from his position beside Benny and reappeared in the space between Dean and Gordon. "You're not _worthy_ to talk about his soul," Cas lowly growled, reaching out, intending to blast the vampire's soul from his corporal body.

But Gordon Walker had been a hunter long before he was a vampire, had honed instincts and the skills to do battle with supernatural beings. Dodging Cas' reaching hand and letting his vampire teeth fall into place, Gordon sank his teeth into the trench coat wearing man's arm. But there was no registration of pain in the man's blue eyes, told Gordon that he had underestimated Dean's second companion, too.

Instantly releasing his hold on his less-than-human opponent, Gordon skittered backwards. But when Cas seemed intent on continuing their confrontation and Dean's vampire was stepping forward to join in on the fun, the vampire leader changed tactics, reassessed the situation. And he was always good at determining his opponent's weaknesses and exploiting them, do so now, almost too easily. "Kill the human," he smugly ordered his pack, because Dean's vampire and trench coat wearing friends, it was obvious that they valued Dean, would not waste time attacking him when Dean was in jeopardy.

Like a well-trained assault team, the vampires leapt forward, Dean their sole target.

Dean boldly stepped forward, aiming to meet the charging vampires half way. But he found Benny almost instantly in his path, beheading the closest vampire. Benny lobbed off another head before Dean could growl out, "Benny, fall back!"

But Benny had no plans to obey that command. He would stand there between Dean and the whole of Purgatory if he had to. Seeing with satisfaction that Cas had teleported behind the gathered vampires, was waging war on their rear flanks, he realized that, between him and the angel, they would squeeze the pack in the middle. However, the next second, Benny sensed Gordon darted by his minions, knew the vampire leader was going to try and come at Dean from the left. "Dean!" Benny shouted in warning, turning to dissuade Gordon from getting any closer to Dean. But the move left him vulnerable to the advancing horde and only Dean's "Duck!" allowed him to move fast enough to keep his head.

When Dean's pathetic concern for his vampire friend distracted the hunter, Gordon quickly closed in the distance that separated him from the human and swung a metal spiked tree branch at his former ally's head.

Taking his own advice, Dean ducked, felt the spikes of Gordon's weapon whoosh harmlessly through his hair. Then he went on the offensive, lashed out with his purgatory blade but Gordon was too quick, jumped back out of the knife's arc. Without warning, a cold hand dropped onto Dean's collarbone and Dean knew it wasn't Benny telling him he had his back. Though he expected to feel fangs sinking into his shoulder, instead he ended up with blood splattering his hair as Benny came slicing into his battle, cutting the girl vamp's neck.

Giving Dean a shove, Benny shouted, "Go! Run! Cas and I will hold them off!" because Dean was the target here, not them. And Benny knew down deep, in whatever was left of his soul, that if Dean stayed by his side, tried to take on the numbers they were facing, the man would die. And Benny couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let it end like that for someone as close to him as a brother.

"Run, Dean! Now!" He bellowed, stepping in to block a downward swing of Gordon's club before it sliced Dean in half. And in that freeze frame moment, his eyes held Dean's and he hoped the man realized just how much his friendship meant to him. "Go! You know the way out. Find it," he commanded, would make this sacrifice for Dean without regret, just as long as the man he loved like a brother got out of Purgatory.

Dean opened his mouth to tell Benny just what he could do with his suggestion… but then he forced himself to assess the situation, the odds, to not react on gut instincts. To listen to a little voice inside him that sounded a lot like Sam's affectionately lecturing voice: '_Dean, just once, think things through before you go all kamikaze, use something we civilized people call logic_ _to solve a problem_.' And right now, logic said he, Benny and Cas would all die there if he didn't do something. Because Gordon, he had trained his pack well, taught them to go for the jugular, to go down fighting, to obey his commands to the death. And that meant, Gordon's horde of vampires would mercilessly tear through Benny and Cas, if they could, just to get to him.

And Dean couldn't let his friends die for him. Not Benny and not Cas again.

Taking the head off a vampire charging him from the right, Dean snarled to Gordon who Benny was presently locked in mortal combat with, "Gordy, you want to drown in my blood, you're gonna have to work for it." Then he bolted away into the woods ahead, knew that Gordon would take up pursuit, that Gordon's groupies would follow in their leader's wake, would leave Benny and Cas behind, alive.

When Gordon shoved him away and tore off after Dean, Benny almost stumbled at the loss of his fighting counterweight. Was nearly shoulder checked as most of the rest of the vampire pack dutifully followed their leader's example…and took up the chase after Dean.

Dread instantly settled in Benny's gut. Suddenly he understood the error he had made, that Dean hadn't left to save himself. No, the fool had left to save him, to draw the pack away from him and Cas.

**SNSNSNSNS ~ Present~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Dean doesn't meet Sam's eyes as he turns away from the corpses, says as he passes Sam, "Doing it for survival, is one thing. Doing it just for kicks…that's another type of evil altogether."

The comparison puts a chill down Sam's spine. Not just the mental image it conjures in him but because he has detected a dose of self-disgust in his brother's tone. Silently, Sam curses himself. How could he have forgotten that Purgatory wasn't the only place that Dean had to adapt to or die. There had been his time in Hell, where, unlike Sam, Dean had been given a choice, a way to stop the agony. And Dean, after thirty years, had taken it.

And Sam was never more joyful at Dean's decision than his very first day in Hell, in the Cage. Because that was the day he fully understood the true meaning of eternal torment and it made him curse Dean for not saying 'yes' to Alistair thirty years sooner.

Putting his memories back into his mental lockbox, Sam leaves the bodies behind and exits the cabin, is relieved that Dean's waiting for him. "So I'm guessing you want to go protect Zeke and the others."

Dean gives Sam a sarcastically 'well yeah' look, says a beat later. "Ahhh…what else would we do."

'_Right, hunting things, saving people_,' Sam bitterly mutters their family motto to himself. If it were up to him, the motto would only have one mandate: don't let your stupid, heroic brother die on you again. Aloud he schemes to do just that, "Well, why don't I go back, set up the Anasazi protection a half mile around Mac's camp, and if the Wendigo shows, I herd him back here, where you torch him." There, clean, nice, and leaving Dean in a place of advantage aka protection, especially if Sam could take out the Wendigo before it ever reached the cabin and subsequently Dean.

Not surprisingly, Dean rejects it out of hand. "This isn't cattle we're steering toward the barn, Sam. It's a hungry, feral, Wendigo, one who doesn't bother marinating his meals, believes in fast food. No, we need to neutralize it on sight, no herding, none of Mac's 'come back from the darkside' chantings, just it dead, burned to a crisp. Now stow the debate. We gotta get back to their camp." Giving Sam a pat on the chest, he starts back the way they had come at a run.

With a resigned sigh and a prayer that today isn't the day the monster gets the upper hand on the infamous Winchester brothers, Sam sets off after his brother. Using his long legs, he quickly breaches the distance between them and then stays doggedly at Dean's side because where Dean goes….he goes. Was his motto as a little kid and now, here in this place, it has become his decree all over again, except with a tenacity Dean would make fun of…if he took notice of it.

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Tbc

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Thanks so much for reading and I'm just loving all of your comments!

And yes, I totally admit that it was mean of me to leave the flashback as a cliffie. (hee hee)

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6: To Kill A Monster

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Ok, for all those pacifist folks in the audience, avert your eyes because there is violence ahead. Oh..that's right, you guys watch Supernatural…forget I mentioned anything. Onto more relevant info: After I few reworkings, it seemed to work out best to make this whole chapter all Purgatory flashback. But for those missing our lovely, Sam, the next chapter which includes Sam is written and it shouldn't be too long until I can get it tidied up and posted.

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Chapter 6: To Kill a Monster

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_Rule # 6: Sometimes it takes a monster to kill a monster._

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_**SNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN**_

Dropping from a tree branch, Dean landed behind six of Gordon's vampires and swiftly beheaded the vampire bringing up the rear. The next second, one of the other vampires charged him from the left. Ducking under the arc of the vamp's crude wooden club, he buried his knife into his opponent's gut. Ripping the blade free of the vampire's flesh, he easily took the head of a third vampire. Then two vamps tag teamed him.

Kicking one in the chest, he sent her sailing backwards even as he sliced the other vampire from navel to neck. Then the final vampire was there, all snarling teeth and swinging club. Blocking the club's descent toward his head with his forearm, Dean sank his knife blade in the vampire's throat. Fluidly pulling the blade free, he one-handedly swept out with his weapon.

The vampire's head joined the others already on the ground.

Not forgetting about the two remaining vampires, Dean rushed the one struggling to regain his feet. Slipping behind his adversary, he grabbed the vampire by the hair, yanked his head back and then sliced his blade from the vampire's right ear to his left. Letting that body drop lifelessly to the forest floor, he stalked toward the last standing vampire. When the vampire seemed to have the good sense to turn and run, Dean quickly closed in the gap between them. He severed her head from her body before she took two steps.

Ten yards away, Gordon Walker stood immobile, had watched the carnage in something near awe but much closer to fear. In his time as leader, he had lost only three soldiers…and every one of them to a horde. But this…watching one man, watching _Dean Winchester_ kill six of his nest singlehandedly with a sick grace and stony precision?! It stirred a human emotion in Gordon that he hadn't felt in a long while: a fear of dying.

His blade dripping with blood and his face and clothing splattered with the same liquid, Dean perceptively turned around to face Walker.

Tightening his grip on his weapon's handle, Gordon acknowledged, "You've upped your game," a hint of pride in this tone. After all, he had mentored Dean…if only for a few short days before Sammy got Dean all turned around on the definition of evil.

"Guess you were right…you and I were born to do this…" Dean nodded his head to the vampire corpses at his feet. Stepping over Gordon's slain groupies, he lazily started to head for Gordon, for a reckoning that had been brewing between them.

"Putting us in the same category…you honor me. Except this…" Gordon panned his hand to indicate the slaughtered members of his nest. "I never honestly thought you had the stomach for this type of dirty work." Taking a measured step toward Dean, he goaded, "Especially since Sammy got you to _save_ that zen-pacifist nest a few years back. Tell me, Sam's not so wholesome anymore, is he? Got further down that dark path than you ever imagined, I know. See people here…they talk. .." he smiled widely but it wasn't kindly, "…with the right motivation."

"You were always good with motivation, weren't you Gordo, no matter how many innocents had to die for you to get your gossip." But even as he condemned Gordon, Dean knew it was the pot calling the kettle black …after all, he was Alistair's star pupil, had scored his own bloody path through Purgatory in his search for Cas.

"Thing about here is…no one's innocent," Gordon reasoned glibly.

Dean snorted. "Like that ever mattered to you."

Walker shrugged. "Thing is, they told me what I already knew to be true: That what I told you about Sam…it wasn't wrong. They say he was …" here Gordon adopted a sneer, "…_consorting_ with the enemy, was becoming one of them, was gearing up to lead the armies of Hell."

Though Gordon had made a good attempt at distracting him by bringing up Sam's days of slumming it with Ruby, Dean still sensed the attack. Pivoting on his heel, he swung his blade twice…and two more members of Gordon's family dropped nearly simultaneously to the ground.

For the first time since he had formed his own pack, Gordon contemplated retreat as an option but when Dean turned again to face him and darkly taunted, "Come on, Gordy. Time to stop stalling," his anger overshadowed his fear.

Raising his knife, Dean pulled on a cocky grin. "I'm been saving the last dance just for you."

"Last dance, huh…" Gordon repeated with grim humor before he threw his club at Dean. When the man ducked, he tackled him to the ground, sought to bury his teeth in Dean's jugular like he once had but this time he wouldn't get interrupted by Dean's evil-incarnate little brother.

But Dean's right fist smashed into his jaw, rocking his head right and started his ears ringing. He left out an inhuman growl as the blade of Dean's knife scored a diagonal path across his back. Then Dean shoved him off of him and lithely gained his feet, but backed off, gave Gordon room and time to lumber to a stand. Grimly, Gordon understood that his earlier thoughts must have mirrored Dean's, that the hunter didn't want the fight between them to be over too quickly. Suddenly it seemed a matter of '_be careful what you wish for'_ because Dean was proving anything but easy to kill.

With his intimate knowledge of Dean's Achilles heel, Gordon baited as he and Dean began to circle each other, "So you're not gonna admit I was right about Sam…."

"'Cause you weren't," Dean coldly rebuked, hated how close he had come to believing what Gordon…even what his father had said about his brother, that the only way to avert Sam's destiny…was to take his brother's life. Ironically enough, Sam had ended up doing the deed himself. "My brother willingly sacrificed himself to stop the Apocalypse. Can't get any more virtuous than that," pride ringing in his words. But it felt wrong, that he could tell friggin' Gordon how proud he was of Sam…but he had never told Sam that…what with Sam avoiding him for a year and coming back soulless, it had never been the right time. '_And then I was out of time, got teleported to this garden spot_.'

Sensing Dean's mind wasn't all on the fight, just like he had intended, Gordon lashed out with the knife he had slid from his pocket. But Dean skillfully leapt out of the knife's trajectory.

Grabbing Gordon's knife-wielding hand, Dean yanked Gordon closer…right into the end of his knife. Then with his knife buried deep in Gordon's chest, he snarled, "You shoulda left Sam alone."

"You shoulda had the courage to do the right thing!" Gordon choked out. As skewered as he was, he couldn't get free but he aimed a punch at Dean's face, which the hunter blocked with his forearm.

"What? Kill you?" Dean purposefully misinterpreted Gordon's words, that the hunter-turned-vampire thought he should have murdered his own brother. '_And how close did I come to doing just that. Too close.' _Kicking Gordon in the chest, Dean watched the vampire slid off the knife blade and stumble backwards, barely managing to keep his feet. And he could see the look in Gordon's eyes, that the man…the vampire was coming to accept that he wasn't going to win this battle, had never won a battle yet with a Winchester and he wasn't going to change that record now.

Hand to his bleeding chest wound, Gordon stumbled to the right, fought to stay standing. Though he knew that he wasn't dying from the wound, neither was he going to heal up…not without being fed. And Dean wasn't going to let him recharge, wasn't going to be that much of a good sportsman. "I thought my last good act on earth was to kill Sam..and now you're telling me he's the savior of the world?"

Dean remained immobile, knew Gordon would make his move soon, he always did. "Don't play the martyr card, it doesn't suit you," he contemptuously spat. "You were judge, jury, and executioner….even to your own sister. Tell me….you meet up with her down here...she thank you for _murdering_ her in cold blood," he jeered, bracing for Gordon's reaction.

With a howl of outrage, Gordon attacked, arched his knife for Dean's throat, felt his body slam into Dean's then he was shoved back to stand clear of Dean. In their brief clash, Gordon's knife never drew blood. But Dean's did. Feebly, Gordon reached a hand up to his throat, felt the blood oozing. But Dean hadn't inflicted a death blow.

Taking a guess at what stayed the hunter's hand, Gordon rationalized, "We're not like them….any of them, are we Dean? We're hunters….allies. Know right from wrong. We understand that…sometimes…to kill the monster you have to become the monster. I'm proof of that. And you don't want to risk that, do you? Killing these fangs, all these creatures lurking in the shadow of this place, they are all fair game. But killing me, here, like this, when we should be allies again…that's something different, crosses a line you know you might not come back from. That Sam wouldn't want you to cross, wouldn't want his heroic big brother to become a monster."

In answer, Dean's lips turned up into a cruel smile and the terrible hopelessness in his eyes managed to chill even Gordon as he darkly drawled, "Oh I'm already way beyond the monster stage, Gordon. Redemption isn't in the cards, not for me…" Coldly holding Gordon's gaze, he sentenced, "And not for you. Any final words before I snuff out your soul for good."

Gordon tilted his head, seemed to be contemplating the wonders of the world before he spoke his last words. "Just wondering, Dean. Now that you're the monster, would Sammy have the same mercy on you that you had on him? Or will your 'virtuous' little brother be so disgusted by what you've become that he slits your throat in your sleep. Part of me hopes so."

With a furious growl, Dean abruptly swings his knife, pitilessly takes Gordon's head off. But the black hunter's dark predictions, they continue to unrelentingly echo in Dean's head.

**SNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN**

Benny, with more viciousness than normal, beheaded two vampires, saw Cas taking down two more but thirteen vampires get by them, join Gordon on their very own fox hunt with Dean Winchester cast in the role of the fox.

Taking up pursuit, Benny frantically sought to overcome Dean's pursuers, hated that it took so long before he even managed to waylay two vampires. His thoughts blindly focused on finding Dean before the pack could rip his friend limb from limb, he was determined to end the two quickly, carelessly lashed out. A moment too late, he recognized his misjudgment. By then a third vampire had joined the battle, was arching his knife for Benny's throat and there was no countermove Benny could make in time.

Without warning, a blazing white light emitted from the vampire's eyes and mouth before the now soulless form dropped to the forest floor, allowed Benny to see that Cas had come up behind the vampire. The angel dispatched another vampire in a like fashion. A fifth took off running…but not in the direction Dean had gone.

Benny was about to thank the angel for his timely intervention when Cas harshly reprimanded, "You need to concentration on your opponents. Stay focused!"

To Benny, the angel's advice wasn't only foolish, it was impossible. "Dean's out there alone with a bunch of vampires wanting his hide, so excuse me for not being the master of cold heartedness that you are."

"I care about Dean," Cas disputed tersely, straining to hear the sounds of the other vampires, to determine the location Dean was heading.

"Yeah, sure. You bailed on him to _protect him_? Real considerate of you," Benny baited because Dean might have given the angel a free pass on his disappearing act, that didn't mean Benny had. No, the angel had _left_ Dean, had known Dean was looking for him, needed him and he didn't go to him. Disloyalty wasn't something Benny tolerated, not toward him and especially not toward the people that he cared about.

Cas didn't bother trying to defend his actions, not to the vampire. He would only defend them to Dean, if Dean would ask him to, but Dean had let his declaration go unchallenged. "It won't do Dean any good if you get yourself killed," Cas imparted, had come to realize the high regard Dean had for the vampire, that it would hurt Dean to lose Benny. And Dean had suffered enough emotional torment.

'_At my hands and at the hands of others,_' Cas sorrowfully qualified and he would see to it that Dean didn't endure more. It was that vow that had him trailing along with Dean, looking for a passage way out of Purgatory that he had no intentions of taking. Because Dean needed him there with him, but more importantly, Dean _wanted _him there, at his side. Just like Dean wanted Benny with him.

And Cas couldn't deny Dean much.

But Benny's current carelessness, it had almost caused him to fail in his duty to Dean.

Stabbing a finger toward Cas, Benny heatedly retorted to the angel's lecture, "Yeah and it won't do _Dean_ any good if he gets himself killed by a vengeful pack of vamps."

"Dean's a survivor," Cas steadfastly declared, needed to believe that, was the reassurance he clung to the most, even here.

"_Dean's a survivor,"_ Benny repeated back in anger. "That's all you got to say. He could be dead right now…" And Benny had never had the angel's wrath directed his way, not until that moment, until Cas was suddenly in his personal space, the angel's blue eyes nearly freezing his blood, if blood still warmly flowed in his veins.

"Dean's not dead," Cas growled, would not even entertain that thought. Ever. And he would not allow Benny to speak like Dean was.

"Geez, you two need to shut up!" Dean lowly commanded as he ran out of the dense forest to the right of his traveling companions, didn't notice that both angel and vampire inhaled a deep breath of relief at his reappearance. "I just lost the vamps on my butt, I do not want the rest of the neighborhood to come knocking."

Head snapping right at the sound of Dean's voice, Benny uttered a "Thank God," before he stepped away from Cas, unleashed a wide smile and engulfed Dean in a joyous hug. "Brother, I thought you were dead."

Returning the hug, Dean gave Benny a companionable pat on the back. "I've been dead a couple of times before…but not today."

Instead of releasing Dean, Benny threw a chummy arm over Dean's shoulders and pulled the man close as they began heading in the opposite direction that the vamps had gone.

Watching as the two friends walked away, Cas knew that the bitter feeling in his stomach was called jealousy. Petulantly, he wanted to point out that Dean was not Benny's brother. That he was Dean's friend long before Benny even knew Dean Winchester existed.

But he remained silent.

After all, it was partially his own fault that Dean's faith and friendship were now bestowed on Benny instead of on him. Though his actions were for purely _selfless_ reasons, had been all in an effort to keep Dean safe, the fact remained that he had heard Dean's prayers to him, day after day, and had not come to the man, had left Dean alone and vulnerable.

And that was when Benny found Dean.

It couldn't simply be chance that had the one vampire, probably the one _soul_ in Purgatory with intact morals, crossing paths with Dean Winchester. Had to have a higher meaning that the vampire had been told of a way out for Dean, could offer Dean _hope_. But still Cas had had his doubts. Though he had seen Benny protect Dean before, he had thought it was all in the name of self-interest, specifically: Dean being Benny's one and only way out of Purgatory.

Until today, until the vampire had been willing to sacrifice his own life, even Cas' life, to ensure Dean lived. Benny had had no ulterior motive when he had told Dean to run, had simply only cared that Dean live, that the man he had come to think of as family survive.

It was strange proof that Cas' own prayers had not gone unanswered. That, while he did not answer Dean's prayers, his own entreaties to God were not met by such deaf ears. Because he had prayed nearly unceasingly for Dean's safety, for the man who he had defied heaven for to be protected.

He just never thought God would answer his request by sending a vampire to Dean's side.

"Cas, you coming?" Dean called, having halted his and Benny's forward motion to turn back, beckon the angel to his side.

Cas didn't need further prompting, was instantly at Dean's side. Then the threesome continued on.

"Gordon, is he…" Cas asked, would go on his own private hunting trip if the vengeful vampire was not dead by Dean's hands.

There was almost a glint of sorrow in Dean's eyes as he nodded his head, signifying the leader was gone.

Puzzled by Dean's regret, Cas remarked, "He used to be a friend?"

"Friend's a bit strong but … we believed in the same things once upon a time," Dean replied before he sighed. "And look where those convictions took us. Down paths no good man travels."

And Cas wanted to give Dean comfort, offer him forgiveness, tell him that his righteousness hadn't been lost but he was the last being who had the right to speak of righteousness after all he had done. All the harm he had inflicted on Dean, regardless of his good intent.

So he let silence reign. Hoped someday, someone might be able to assuage the guilt Dean carried for his sins, real and perceived. But for now, it had to be enough that Dean had two protectors who would volunteer to travel down the dark roads now so Dean didn't have to.

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**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderfully encouraging words from my lovely reviewers!

I hope this chapter wasn't a chore to read since Sam was absent. But like I mentioned before, Sam will be back in the next chapter, which I hope to have posted without too much delay.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7: Celebrate Your Victories

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

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Chapter 7: Celebrate Your Victories

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_Rule #7: Celebrate your victories, because you probably won't be alive to whine about your loses. _

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**SNSNSNSN ~ Present~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Lungs and legs burning at the relentless pace Dean was keeping, Sam finally has to call uncle. "Dean, hold up. Hold up," he implores amongst his hard pants for breathe and slowing steps. When he reaches a hand out to ensure Dean stops, he doesn't miss the way Dean jerks away like he's been touched by a live wire, or that his brother's right hand curls into a fist or the glazed look in his eyes. It makes Sam glad he halted their little marathon, that, unknowingly, his lack of endurance managed to do some good, to drag Dean out of another Purgatory memory.

Ripped from his memories, Dean's next step is nearly a stumble, might have been something worse if Sam's grip on his forearm hadn't morphed from simply attention getting to supporting. But then he's alright, knows that it's not Benny or Cas running at his side anymore but Sam. Sam who isn't used to running every day, miles and miles, just to keep ahead of the monsters looking to gut him.

Coming to a stop, he watches as Sam doesn't just stop but finds the nearest tree and slides down to its base until he's sitting on the ground, his breathing loud to Dean, like a beacon to whatever's close by wanting a snack. '_Chill Dean! There's only one thing out there and you can deal with it. I mean, one Wendigo?! Piece of cake compared to the odds you used to face off against, remember_?!' he rebukes himself, ashamed of his needless fear.

Head resting back against the tree trunk, Sam watches Dean, marvels at the change in his brother from one moment to the next. Closing his eyes a moment, Dean exhales and then the tension in his body melts away, is _put _away. '_Stowing his crap,_' Sam catalogues, quoting his brother and as necessary as that sometimes is, Dean's made it an art form, his go-to plan when dealing with something that hurts him. '_Yeah, and talking to me…where's that rank on his 'how to handle crap that's tearing him apart' list? Tenth? Fiftieth… after all the crap between us since his return from Purgatory?!'_

Having shaken off the worst of his apprehension, Dean looks down at Sam, teases, "What? You eat too many tofu burgers while I was MIA?"

And Sam and Dean both know the difference in their physical stamina, it has nothing to do with Sam's eating habits the past year…or the past thirty years. Sam avoids pointing that out, say sinstead with mockingly lightness, "No, more like I don't want to be totally _**spent**_ before I face off with a Wendigo."

Dean smirks, affectionately lobs at Sam, "Wuss," before he puts a hand out to Sam, offering his help to Sam to gain his feet.

Taking Dean up on his invitation, Sam's hand closes around Dean's forearm and then Dean's pulling him to his feet, bringing him to a stand inches from Dean's position. And in that moment, their eyes meet, and Sam's breath catches because Dean's eyes aren't the reflective mirrors they have been, are showcasing warmth…for him…but he also sees glimpses of things Dean won't talk about: pain and dread and the new scars Purgatory seared into his soul. And it's a rare thing, Dean letting him this close, allowing him a free pass behind his barriers, letting him see, just a fraction, of what he's feeling. Because for all the time they end up spending together, they haven't really been _close_, have avoided touch and have wholly banned direct eye contact unless it is absolutely necessary.

Sam opens his mouth to say…something, he doesn't even know what, but before he can, Dean releases him and for a moment, Sam reaches for him again but then he fists his hand to stop himself. As hard as it is, he has to let Dean go, has to let his brother slip away from him, has to allow Dean to drop the protective wall around him again. But it hurts, being sentenced back out to the perimeter, to be relegated to helplessly looking in on his brother's pain. But forcibly storming Dean's walls?! It rarely ever worked and when it did, that feat had happened when they were close, didn't have a hundred hurtful issues between them. That tactic certainly wouldn't work now.

Pretending to have missed Sam's half grab for him, Dean announces, "Come, on. We'll slow down the pace," jerking his head in the direction of the camp. But he doesn't start to walk until Sam does.

Again pacing Dean, Sam keeps shooting looks to his brother as they maneuver through the forest. And it's too much, having that small opportunity of Dean opening up to him slip through his fingers. He can't let it go, thinks maybe if Dean's focused on the hunt, he might be more likely to slip up, say something he might not usually admit. It's underhanded but Sam can bear the guilt if it gets Dean to talk to him, in some small way eases some of the horror of the memories that Dean's living with. "So you said Cas has been different since he's back…that you knew something was up with him from the start."

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look. "You doubting my instincts?"

Sam quickly corrects Dean's misconception, his tone pitched kind, not judgmental, "No, Dean. That's not what I'm saying. I just…he doesn't seem different to me."

Dean looks away from Sam, focuses on the forest ahead. "You don't know him like I do," and it's not a brag, is simply a fact.

"Rrriiight…" Sam draws, "the '_profound bond'_ you two have. But still…what was clue one? I mean, from the second he appeared in the bathroom with you…."

"_**While I was shaving**_, Sammy," Dean pointedly interjects. "While I was shaving. Don't ever say that clause without saying that too."

Sam can't hold back a smirk at his brother's adamant request for propriety, which is funny considering Dean's lack of modesty. "Fine, the second he appeared in the bathroom with you while you were shaving, you sensed something was off."

Avoiding, Sam's eyes, Dean mutters under his breath, "He didn't hug me."

Sam's eyes widen. He must have heard his brother wrong. "Wait. What? Say that again."

"You heard me," Dean grouses, stalking a few paces ahead of Sam.

"No …I didn't…couldn't," Sam humorously replies, picking up his own pace to again come shoulder to shoulder with his brother. "Your whole starting basis for this theory that Cas is off since he came back from Purgatory is "_he didn't hug you_?"" He doesn't shrink at Dean's glare but revels in it. "Man, things must have really changed between you two in Purgatory. Were hugs daily occurrences or just spontaneous? Wait, I forgot, you are the guy who used to wear a "I Wuv Hugs" shirt."

"I was four, Sam!" Dean emphatically defends himself, shooting daggers at his brother.

Shaking his head in amusement, Sam smiles, lets silence fall as he sobers with an effort. Clearing his throat, he tries to get serious again. "Ok. I'll give you a pass on the shirt but…come on, I need a bit more, Dean. What? Cas got….chick-flicky in Purgatory?"

Dean's coloring goes red with embarrassment and his eyes do a hit and run with Sam's. But noting that Sam has his 'dog with a bone' expression on, he sighs, knows Sam won't let this go. "No!" he heatedly denies before he recants, "Well…maybe. He…he changed. Which I totally blame on Benny."

**SNSNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

With the remnants of Gordon's pack now half a day's travel behind them, Benny still couldn't seem to tone down his adrenaline or fight the urge to keep watching behind them. And though their stop now was precautionary so they didn't run head long into another hungry horde, the inaction wasn't sitting well with him. So he paced, and each time he passed the angel, who was doing his statue impersonation, was standing at the very edge of the clearing, right where he had stopped when Dean first ordered their little group of three to hold up and get their bearings, something became more evident to Benny. When curiosity got the best of him, he halted in front of Cas and drawled, "What are you pouting about?"

"Angels do not pout," Cas indignantly denied without sparing the vampire a glance.

Benny laughed at the angel's rejection of what any fool with eyes could see. "Sure thing, hot wings."

"Don't call me that," Cas angrily warned, those cold eyes coming to land on the vampire.

Benny held his hands up in mock surrender but his taunting smile was still there. But the angel's attention was already abandoning him, returning to its former subject. Tracking the angel's gaze to Dean, noting that the angel was intently watching Dean's every move, Benny suddenly got it, understood what had the angel acting so out of sorts. However, he quickly determined that the angel's emotional baggage wasn't his business. But then Dean turned around, gave Cas a look, a wounded look, like he too sensed the angel's distance, a distance that Dean was taking personally. Suddenly, Cas' brooding _became_ Benny's business because he wasn't going to just stand back and let the misunderstanding between Dean and the angel continue. Not when it was hurting Dean.

So when Dean announced he'd scout to the west a ways, Benny found himself alone with Cas, which was a rarity really. But the opportunity was there and he was going to take it…for Dean's sake. "Don't be a spoiled sport," he cajoled, figured the angel wouldn't like a straight heart to heart so this avenue would have to do.

"I'm not…" Cas began to protest before he realized that he didn't know if he _should_ protest. "What's a spoiled sport?"

"You." At Cas's glare, Benny smirked. "Don't pout because I showed my affection for Dean and you….well, do you have any affection for him?"

Immediately Cas' feathers were ruffled. "We share a profound bond!"

"_Profound_?" Benny mockingly parroted back, arching an eyebrow. But at Cas' smiting look, he conceded, "Alright, I'll let you have that one." He eyed the angel in silence for a full minute before declaring, "Beside you blew it."

Fully distracted, Cas abandoned his partial attention on the spot where Dean had melted into the forest and slipped from his sight and turned angrily to Benny. "You know I do not understand what you're saying."

Benny looked away, ahead. Did it more to _not_ look at Cas because he didn't want the angel to recognize that, what Cas was feeling, he was familiar with it. That Dean managed to bring the same emotions out of both of them. "It was the first smile of joy I ever saw from him." Turning to Cas, he pinned the angel with his gaze, wanted to make Cas accountable, for the angel to know what he had…and somehow didn't even know how precious it was. "When Dean found you, _hugged_ you, he was so happy to see you and you…. " Benny broke off, shook his head. Bitterness coated his next words. "You didn't hug him back, stood there like….like some statue. Told him that you heard him praying to you and …." He clenched his jaw, fought back his anger at Cas' callous reply to Dean's vulnerability. Because anger, it was never a good thing with his vampirism.

But Cas didn't need Benny to finish. He knew the mistake he had made there, that he was still making, had made in the past. Hoarsely, Cas sorrowfully admitted, "I don't deserve his loyalty."

Flickering a scornful look to Cas, Benny bitterly chuckled, "You think I do? Dean just…deems you worthy and that's it, done deal. Then it's on you to not disappoint him."

Cas hung his head, made a visible swallow then turned his back on the vampire to stare out into the forest, to the horrific world around them that he had little hope of protecting Dean in. "Lately I have done nothing but disappoint him…fail him…..hurt him…in the worst ways." Then, because he deserved the vampire's censure, he took a breath and turned to face Benny.

For all the times Cas seemed nearly without emotion or facial expression, it was almost startling for Benny to see the depth of grief now reflected on the angel's countenance. "He doesn't seem to be holding a grudge."

"He should be," Cas fiercely spat, angry that Benny seemed to be right, that Dean wasn't keeping his guard up with him. And he should be, needed to, because the last thing Cas wanted was to have the opportunity to hurt Dean again.

"Yeah and who's going to make him?" Benny posed with amused disdain, because he knew Dean's stubbornness first hand. "I know you're an angel of the Lord and all, but I don't have much faith in you swaying him in much. 'Specially considering he somehow talked you into killing a Leviathan and getting yourself sent down here."

"I owed him my loyalty…my life….whatever small measure of good I have left in my soul," Cas vowed solemnly, knew that no matter what he did now _for_ Dean, it would never make up for what he had done in the past _to_ Dean.

To Cas' surprise, Benny didn't mock his devotion.

"I hear you. 'Bout the same way I feel…." Benny concurred with a heavy exhale. Then he waited for the angel to make a comment but the angel's eyes were wide with astonishment at his declaration. "Except I don't make it a secret from him, what I owe him, how much I value what he's offering me."

And though Benny had risked his life to save Dean back with Gordon, Cas found himself testing the vampire, challenging his loyalty to Dean. "Yes, Dean is offering you a way out of Purgatory."

Benny's eyes darkened at Cas' assumption that the only value Dean had to him was his ability to carry him to freedom. "No, what he's given me is his _friendship_," Benny stridently corrected, stepping up to Cas, daring the angel to doubt that declaration. "He's had my back like no one, alive or dead, ever did. I would die for him and the terrifying thing is, I know he would die for me. He is a true brother to me."

Cas suddenly looked ashen, even for an angel. "Once….he said I was like a brother to him. And he asked…pleaded with me to not do something." He vividly remembered standing in Bobby Singer's living room, Dean asking him…begging him to not open Purgatory's door, to not side with Crowley against him. "But I didn't listen to him and I …I lost my way, destroyed his trust, destroyed everything. He will never see me as that again."

Benny's smile was almost gentle. "Dean hacked his way through a hundred miles of monsters to find you. I think that says more than a fraternity test ever could." Then he walked to the edge of the clearing, gave the angel some space…needed some space himself. It was just more proof of the man Dean Winchester was, that he was too loyal for his own good, forgave things he shouldn't. And now that Benny was a recipient of Dean's tenacious loyalty, he was afraid he too would fail Dean. Because failing the people he cared about, that was Benny's specialty.

Silently, Cas watched Benny walk away, detected some misgivings in the vampire but could not determine why. But the vampire's words, they had cut him to the quick and rightfully so. In trying to keep himself from hurting Dean, he had closed himself off, was determined to keep Dean at arm's length and in the process…he had ended up doing what he had set out to not do: he had hurt Dean. Cursing the entanglement of emotions, he wondered how Sam did it, how he managed to not hurt Dean, knew what to say and how to help his brother when he was suffering.

It was something heaven had never taught Cas.

But Dean…he had been trying to teach him just that. To show him how to navigate human emotions. Had hugged him by the river, tightly. Had used that gesture to show him that he was glad to see him, was rejoicing in the fact that he wasn't dead. And, like Benny had said, Dean had smiled at him…because Dean somehow still managed to care about him, value him, want him with him. Even after everything he had done.

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A few minutes later when Dean returned from his scouting trip, he barely took two steps back into the clearing before Cas crossed over to him and pulled him into a fervent hug that was nearly bone crushing. Wheezing in the embrace, Dean speculated, "I step into a time warp…been gone a year or something?" Over Cas' shoulder, he looked to Benny, who was sporting a satisfied smirk.

"Nope you been gone a few minutes, ten at the top," Benny announced.

Looking to Cas, who hadn't released him yet, Dean began, "Cas, what's…."

"I didn't want you dead," Cas declared, arms still encircling Dean, didn't want to let go until Dean understood what he was trying to tell him. That he had been scared when Gordon and his pack went after Dean, scared that he would lose the person he had come to value the most.

Confused, Dean stammered, "Cas, I just went scouting a few yards away…"

Afraid Dean would pull away, Cas fisted his hands in the back of Dean's jacket and held on. "I was glad to see you at the river…waited anxiously every night to hear your prayers to me…to know you were alive. I …I …I am sorry…"

At Cas' words, Dean finally understood what was up with the angel, that this was a delayed reaction, that Cas had stored this up for what…months now?! Instead of pushing the angel away, Dean put his arms around Cas, returned the angel's embrace. "Hey, I get it, Ok. And we're good." Then he pulled back, and Cas left him go this time.

Putting his hand on the side of Cas' face, Dean said, "And if anyone's sorry, it's me. I guilt tripped you into helping me take down Dick. I'm the one that got you stuck down here, Cas."

Cas pulled on a half-smile, "I came for you in Hell, it's only right I be with you in Purgatory."

Pulling his touch from Cas, Dean smirked but his eyes were alight with gratitude and affection as they held Cas'. "Someone should teach you about self-preservation."

"Well, it won't be you 'cause you don't know jack about it," Benny drawled, earned the attention of the human and angel. "Now can we go or are we gonna have a good cry first."

"Shud up," Dean snarked and then they set out again, three against the world. And those odds when it came to those three didn't seem so lousy.

**SNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSNS**

Stepping directly into Dean's path, Sam exclaims, "Wait, you ran into Gordon! And you didn't think that was something I should know!" Cas and his new habit of giving out hugs totally forgotten.

Dean offers up a careless shrug. "What's it matter, he's dead." Because talking more about Gordon, telling Sam about his last conversation with Walker, wasn't on his to-do list. Like ever.

But Sam isn't dropping it. "Yeah, well…he was dead before." Then Sam's mind replays the ingrained memory of Gordon's attacking Dean in that warehouse in sharp, vivid color. Remembers savagely pulling Gordon off Dean before the vampire could drink Dean…or turn him. Even then he knew it had been a close call, had had his fair share of nightmares about it afterward, of being too late, of losing his battle with Gordon, of losing his _brother_ to Gordon's sick hatred of him.

"Well, if there are 9 circles of Hell, maybe Gordo's in another circle of Purgatory. Either way, I don't think we'll be having **another** reunion. Least I hope not. Now, put it back into high gear Sammy," and with that Dean steps around Sam and ups the ante by starting once again to run.

Dean's quick departure tells Sam in no uncertain terms that the conversation is over, that Gordon's yet another forbidden topic. And that just causes Sam's stomach to roil because it signifies that his brother's confrontation with the hunter managed to heap more hurt on his brother's soul. Recalling Gordon's knack for pretending he knew Dean, understood Dean, of convincing Dean that they weren't so different, Sam feared that the hunter had pulled the same psychological crap on Dean in Purgatory.

'_Just when I thought I couldn't hate Gordon more than I did before…_' Sam silently thinks, wishes, not for the first time, that he had been with Dean in Purgatory, that once again he had had the satisfaction of ending Gordon Walker, of snuffing out the hunter's life before he could hurt his brother, physically…or emotionally.

Cursing Walker and the cruel twist of fate that had the demented hunter and Dean's paths cross again, Sam set off in the direction Dean had. Let his mind settle on something less disturbing then Gordon. Like a Cas prone to _hugging _Dean. Ok, only slightly less disturbing but so entertaining. '_When we get out of this place, I'm getting him a "I wuv hugs," t-shirt.' _A second later he made another declaration,_ "And he is so not allowed to have any more reunions without me." _Because Dean might be his big brother but that didn't mean Dean had the market on wanting to fight his brother's worst battles for him.

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As they run, side by side, Sam gasping for air, Dean barely breaking a sweat, the forest grows quieter the closer they get to the camp. It's a sure sign, for experienced hunters like they are, that something is skulking in the woods that terrifies all of nature.

When Dean comes up short before the research team's camp is even in sight, Sam does too, kinda. He takes a few more steps before he realizes Dean isn't at his side and backtracks to his brother. Over his own harsh breaths, he tries to determine what his brother has heard but comes up with nada, no telltale sounds, no movement in the trees, and no broken branches around them, no off scent, no sixth sense warning tingling down his spine. Turning to study Dean's face, he instantly knows that whatever Dean is sensing, it's not good. Before he can interrogate his brother, Dean cautiously moves forward without a sound, his flare gun in hand and Sam devotedly follows him.

At his first clear sight of the camp, Dean mutters, "What the…" with sick bewilderment as he steps out into the open.

Carnage desecrates the camp. The ground's littered with body parts, human organs and blood is splattered…everywhere.

And amid the butchery stand Mac, Zeke and Vicki, their glove covered hands dripping with blood and they are respectively holding, a human heart, a jar of blood and a human ear.

Suddenly Dean wonders if the Wendigo's not the lesser evil lurking in the woods with him. Beside him, Sam puts away Ruby's knife, draws his gun and sights it on the crazy trio and thunders, "Don't move!"

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TBC

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Thanks for reading!

And I just loved all the reviews on last chapter! I'm so glad you enjoyed my chapter dedicated to Purgatory and Dean's mad fighting skills.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8: Blood You Lose

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: The flashback in this chapter is earlier in time than the previous few, mark a time before Dean and Benny met up with Cas and their bond's just finding its roots. Ah and gore ahead….

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Chapter 8: Blood You Lose

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_Rule #8: The first drop of blood you lose lessens your chances of survival by eighty percent._

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Suddenly Dean wonders if the Wendigo's not the lesser evil lurking in the woods with him. Beside him, Sam puts away Ruby's knife, draws his gun and sights it on the crazy trio and thunders, "Don't move!"

But Mac disobeys Sam's command, instead stands up from his crouched position where he seemed to be arranging the latest organ just right, like he was a home interior decorator…for Charlie Manson. "Hold on. It's not what you think."

"What I think is you're a bunch of psycho killers who have more in common with the Wendigo than I thought," Sam growls, finger pressing on the trigger, not feeling all that squeamish about taking down evil, even if it was presently coming in human form.

But the threesome didn't cower under his threat…but chuckled.

It's Vicki who shares the joke. "This is all harvested from cadavers from Mac's college. Cadavers of bodies donated for medical and scientific resea…"

"You're _luring_ the thing here," Dean interjects with revulsion as he steps into their little shop of horror, does a circle, takes in the scene of carnage they've staged…but he's seen it too many times for real. Had a hand in it more times than he would ever confess to Sam. His eyes flicker to Zeke, to the container the man holds, a container that has a tear of red liquid streaking down the outside.

Blood.

It's what he had smelled even before he had reached the camp's perimeter, was a smell he knew better than any other. Didn't think he could ever smell it or look at it again and not think of Purgatory.

Because blood, it was the currency of Purgatory. Was the hottest commodity to be had. Those that didn't crave it to satisfy their appetite, bartered it away, or simply spilled it for a show of dominance. But for Dean, it had come to mean something else: the difference between life and death.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~SNSNSNSNSNSN  
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Before Dean could recover from the blow and regain his feet, arms encircled him, slimy arms whose flesh peeled off without much provocation. Then rancid breath blew into his face as the shapeshifter spoke, his face, which, in Purgatory, he couldn't conceal with another human's flesh, was misshapen, pock marked and covered in open sores. Dean nearly gagged when that grotesque assortment of flesh pressed into his hair. "Ooohhh, human," the shapeshifter sniffed Dean. "Quite the delicacy."

Another unfamiliar, gravely, less than human voice spoke behind Dean and his captor. "You carve him up and we'll divide his carcass."

"Nope. I caught him, I eat him," his captor denied his fellow shapeshifter, his one hand coming up to caress Dean's neck, like a butcher would a chicken's…right before he beheaded him.

"Hate to be a tease and all but I'm turning down both dinner invites," Dean snarked, his hand blindly searching the ground for his lost knife, hoping to find it in time to shove it into the gut of the puke-inducing thing holding him before the dinner bell rang.

Without warning, something plowed into Dean and the shapeshifter, sent Dean crashing to the ground, right on top of his misplaced knife. Intent on taking out his would-be eater, he grabbed the knife and rolled to his feet, only to find that Benny was robbing him of that pleasure. But the vampire had left himself open to the second creature's attack, howled in agony as the shapeshifter dug its claws deep into Benny's side. But the shifter didn't get the chance to finish off the vampire, not with Dean's knife in his throat. Ruthlessly reclaiming his knife, Dean turned to find Benny staggering to keep his feet, radiating agony and blood dripping heavily from his side.

"You stupid jerk! Why'd you butt in?! I had it handled," Dean reproached, putting away his knife and frantically crossing the small distance to the wounded vampire.

Wheezing, Benny cynically disputed, "Handled?! So I guess you've just been shining me all along, would really enjoy being made a meal of."

"Sit down," Dean groused, hands latching onto Benny's arm, intending to enforce his order.

But Benny had other ideas, shook his head and panted, "We can't stay here," his eyes nervously scanning the woods around them.

"Yeah and you aren't going to get far," Dean pointed out, lifting Benny's coat and scowling at the blood and the tear in the vampire's shirt…and torso.

When the vampire's good intentions to start walking turned into a stumble, Dean tightened his hold on Benny's arm, steadied him, wasn't prepared for his companion's next hoarse word to be "Blood."

To his credit, Dean's first thought wasn't, '_run for your life'_. He had come to know Benny better than to fear him. But the vampire had his limits. '_And I'm pushing them_,' Dean realized as he touched his forehead where the first shifter had caught him with a well swung branch, didn't have to look at his fingers to know the liquid coating them was blood. And even he knew that it wasn't polite to do show and tell when you had no plans to deliver on the goods.

"Crap, sorry. Didn't know I was bleeding. I'll wipe it off…" Starting to put his oath into practice, Dean released Benny's arm, was going to step away to remove the traces of the blood, his blood that apparently was too enticing to the vampire in his wounded state. He was surprised when Benny's hand shot out to clasp his arm and halt his departure. Was even more taken back that his companion's pained eyes were alighting on him, not with barely held back restraint, but with amusement.

"Not your blood, stupid. Their's," Benny corrected, jerking his chin toward the dead creatures, their hideously distorted faces not improved by death. "I'll heal up quicker once I've feed."

Though Dean could barely stomach _looking _at the shifter's true forms and the thought of touching them wasn't ever gonna be high on his list of enjoyable tasks, he didn't harbor a moment of indecision about getting Benny what he needed. "Fine, take a load off while I rustle up your grub," he ordered as he reinstated his grip on Benny, manhandled the vampire to the ground and settled him back to lean against a tree.

Giving Benny a reassuring pat on his leg, he crossed over to the shifters. He bled one, than the other, gathering their blood in a branch with a grove. Returning to his companion's side, Dean sank to his knees, was willing to hold the makeshift bowl to Benny's lips. But Benny took the limb from him, gave a hoarse, "Thanks. I got it from here…."

Relieved, Dean stood up, turned so his back was to Benny. He wouldn't put it past his companion to have figured out that he wasn't keen to watch him feed but Benny couldn't know that it had nothing to do with squeamishness. Instead it had everything to do with Dean's brother. Of memories Dean liked to keep buried down deep. Never liked remembering what it felt like to watch Sam feed on blood that first time, to remember being afraid…of Sam, when his little brother turned to face him, blood dripping down his lips, onto his chin.

Some memories even Purgatory couldn't top in horror factor.

Back still to Benny, Dean asked, "Need more?" even as he prayed the answer was no.

"That'll do for now," Benny replied, wiped the blood from his lips. Watching Dean's back, he saw the marginally easing of the man's spine. It was repugnant to the human, his drinking blood. He knew that. But Dean hadn't protested, had gotten him the blood, had even been willing to help him get it down…had done it to save his miserable life.

Sensing some uncharted emotion pouring off his companion, Dean tentatively turned around, was glad to see Benny wasn't still guzzling blood. In fact, there was no trace he had ever. And he was right, the vampire was giving him his most tenacious of contemplative looks. "What?" he prodded with good humor instead of irritation.

Without explanation, Benny imparted, "West about 200 miles then south 'round the lake. It'll be on a hill."

"What will?"

"Light," Benny announced with a bittersweet smile. "The way out. Case something happens to me…now you know where to go." Because this had been too close, he could have died and Dean…Dean would have been stuck here. And that, somewhere along the forty miles they had traveled together, had become an unacceptable outcome for Benny.

But Dean wasn't crowing over the imparted intel, was instead looking at Benny with concern and uncertainty. "Why tell me?"

"Cause you didn't know where it was," Benny stated the obvious, was easier than speaking the truth. But he should have known by then that Dean wouldn't let his question go unanswered.

"You just gave away your leverage, numbskull. What's stopping me from leaving your butt here…or wasting you?" and there was righteous anger in Dean's tone.

Benny smiled smugly, looked up to his companion…no, his friend's vexed features. "Only the goodness of your heart."

The idea was ludicrous enough to get a snort from Dean. "Goodness of my heart?" he lowly scoffed. "I don't have any of that left, buddy."

"Yeah, and I say you're full of crap," Benny refuted, eyes staring up at Dean, daring him to try and prove him wrong.

Whatever Dean might have said to condemn himself was lost as a howl rent the air. It ended all philosophical discussions. "Alright, time to move out," Dean announced.

"Thought I used up my usefulness," Benny taunted with a twinkle of mischief when Dean slid his arm behind his back and levered the wounded vampire to his feet.

Supporting the still weak vampire against his side, Dean started to maneuver both of them forward into a sloppy version of a jog. "Unless you're looking for better companionship with things that consider howling a form of male bonding, stop talking and start running," he jeered but there was warmth in his tone that he hadn't allowed to seep through before. Because, what Benny had given to him, it wasn't just the coordinates to the way out. It was trust. Benny trusted him, had surrendered his only leverage to gain his own freedom over to Dean. And that gesture, it moved them into new territory. Made them a team now. Partners.

But Benny put a different label on what Dean had come to mean to him. "I'm with you, brother."

And Dean didn't dispute it. Months ago, he had given up his selfish desire to have Sam at his side, had accepted that it wasn't to be. No, it was Benny who had his back, who saved his life, who, surprisingly, found value in him now. That didn't mean that, even as he and Benny had miraculously managed to stay one step ahead of everything that wanted to rip out their throats, he still didn't pray that Sam was Ok, that his brother knew somehow that he was doing everything in his power to get back to him.

But the stark truth was, he couldn't survive alone, would have been dead a few times over already had it not been for Benny. That in Purgatory, brotherhood wasn't about having the same blood pumping through your veins, was instead about the blood you willingly shed to keep each other alive.

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Sam's dilemma isn't much of one: either continue to threat to shoot three people who are undeniably crazy, but not murderers…or snap his brother back to the here and now. Tucking the gun into the back of his waist band, he turns to Dean, goes for the hands on approach because calling his brother's name for the last minute has gotten him nowhere, except maybe making Mac and his group think he and Dean are the unhinged ones.

With one hand sliding behind Dean's neck and the other taking a healthy hold on Dean's forearm, Sam steps into his brother's personal space, hates that Dean doesn't bulk at either physical intrusion. "Dean, hey, I need you to snap out of it," he entreats, the tremble in his voice telegraphing his fear. "You're not going to zone out, let me stuck facing off with a Wendigo and four mad scientists, right?" he tries for lightness but the laugh that emanates from him, its closer to a sob. Because he can't do this, can't watch Dean skip out on him when he's standing right there, can't bury the fear that Dean might not come back to him one of these times, might not _choose_ to come back to him.

But he does this time, blinks and comes back to him, is suddenly not only coherent but driven.

"We gotta get out of here," Dean tersely announces, knows that the Wendigo won't pass up the buffet Mac and his group have lain out, any more than the Purgatory residents would. Grabbing Sam's arm, he begins to march Sam out of the camp, away from the carnage, from the overpowering smell of blood, from the monster who's coming even now, might be there already, just biding his time.

Sam doesn't bulk at Dean's decision, doesn't suggest that they can use the 'trap' to their advantage, can tell by the tight, almost frantic grip his brother has on his arm that Dean's reacting to more than just honed hunter instincts. That Dean's scared. '_And still his primary thought is to keep me with him, to keep me safe.'_ That revelation strikes him in the heart…like it has every single time he makes it. '_Well the feeling's mutual, Dean_,' he wants to shout to Dean, to get it through his brother's head. Reaching out, he grabs Dean's jacket, latches onto Dean as strongly as Dean's latched onto him. They are in this together and if Dean wants to run, he'll go with him.

Slowing his and Sammy's pace, Dean shouts over his shoulder to the threesome still in the camp, "That thing shows up now, he will go right forthe _fresh_ meat." At their matching looks of confusion, he explains with contempt, "You!" but they still aren't getting it. "Run! Now!" he commands.

Zeke takes his advice to heart, drops the container of blood and comes to the Winchesters. Vicki's choice isn't so clear as she swivels her look between the departing Winchesters and Mac. But when Mac reaches his hand out to her, she goes to him and together they leave the camp…but not to join the Winchesters. Instead they slip to the opposite side of the camp and hunker down, wait for the focus of their experiment to enter their trap.

Seeing the decision Mac and Vicki make, Dean curses but turns away, is still determined to pull Sam away from ground zero. The hairs on the back of his neck telling him there isn't much time, he tugs Sam into a jog. Behind them, Zeke's trying to keep up. "Where's Ivan?" Dean demands.

And Sam thinks, that's his brother for him. Dean's _worried_ about a guy who put a gun to his head a couple of hours ago.

"Higher ground for his shot," Zeke replies, fear starting to get the best of him because the two seemingly fearless men in front of him deciding to run for their lives? It wasn't a good sign.

"To kill it?" Sam incredulously asks because he's knows how Wendigos react to getting shot. They get pissed and then someone gets their neck broken.

"To tranquilize it."

Both brothers curse at that ill-advised plan.

But it's Dean who brings his headlong pace to a stop, brings their little entourage to a halt. Sam, his hands still fisted in Dean's jacket, leans in close, asks, "What is it?"

Dean looks back the way they came and shakes his head. "Can't."

Eyes tracking Dean's every facial tick, Sam gently prods, "Can't what, Dean?"

Uneasily, Dean rubs a hand down his mouth. "They'll die, Sammy. We leave them and they'll die." And it's pathetic, that his first instinct had been to run, to leave behind people…not monsters, not hunters, just people who had no way of defending themselves. He had just thought about his survival, Sam's survival. He had let the laws of Purgatory dictate his actions: that only the fastest, the strongest, only the most vicious could last, were _worthy _of survival.

Any gentleness vanishes from Sam's tone as he replies to Dean's dark prediction, "They brought this down on their own heads, Dean! They want the thing to come to them. And, after their stunt, it'll be in a frenzy and it would be hard enough to hit with a friggin' flare gun when it's standing still. No way we get a shot now, we both know that."

But Dean's shaking his head, "But Sam…."

Knowing the code his brother lives by, that Dean wouldn't just turn his back on someone in danger, Sam cooks up a compromise. "We'll set up a new camp here," he plans, hands going wide to indicate the clearing they have stopped in. "Put wards up, Anasazi symbols, then we'll go get Mac and the others, bring them back here."

"Sam there isn't time…" Dean protests, voice rising with his tension.

"It won't do anybody any good if we don't have someplace safe to go to, Dean! No, we set this up then we go back for them, lead them back here and we just hold our position until morning. After that, we go hunt the thing down and then we go home." And Sam didn't want to dwell on the fact that their "home", namely the Impala, was parked too many miles away to make in a day's journey, even if they walked all night. That even with their best case scenario, Dean was sentenced to a few more days of camping.

After a few moments, his plan gets his brother's reluctant approval and soon he, Dean and even Zeke are busy making the clearing a Wendigo free zone. Only later will Sam realize there was one flaw with his plan: in order for a place of safe haven to work…you had to be alive to reach it.

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It doesn't break branches when it comes, makes no sound, is suddenly just there, in the middle of the camp, the only indication that it didn't magically appear the rustling of the leaves as it streaked by them. With unsteady hands, Vicki raises the camera, can't believe she's about to get proof of what the world deems a myth. Feels like a National Geography photographer, getting ready to unobtrusively snap pics of a predator eating its prey.

But the Wendigo's gaze doesn't drop to the offerings they have nicely placed on the ground, spares no attention to the remnants of dead bodies. Instead, the creature looks at the woods surrounding the camp…and unerringly pins her and Mac with his red gaze, like he knew they were there the entire time, counted on it. Fear grips her, and she jumps as Mac's hand clamps over her mouth, stifles the scream that's aching to rip out of her.

Then between one blink and the next, the Wendigo is simply gone, the carnage on the ground rejected.

Disgustedly, Mac curses under his breath and abandons his camouflaged location to come to a stand.

He never senses the predator at his back until the Wendigo shrieks, towers over his 6' 1" frame. Spinning around only to lose his footing and fall back to land beside Vicki on the ground, Mac puts his hand over Vicki's mouth before she can scream and mutely looks up at the centuries old creature whose existence has never been documented. A creature that, contrary to Dean and Sam's predictions, isn't attacking them, is simply trying to communicate to them. Taking up the gauntlet, Mac uses his calmest tone, "We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help you, bring you back to …"

Whatever Mac would have said next is lost as the Wendigo seems to self-combust as red fire emanates from his chest and spreads outward. Then the creature's practically melting from the inside out right before his eyes. Mere seconds later, the burning form collapses to the ground, burns a few moments more than is reduced to a pile of black ash.

When he can finally find his voice, Mac thunders, "What have you done?!" eyes blazing up to his 'rescuer'.

Lowering the flare gun, Dean barks, "I just saved your worthless life, that's what."

"It wasn't hurting us!" Mac hurls back, gaining his feet and menacingly stepping toward Dean, unconsciously crunching the ash of the Wendigo under his feet in the process.

Which amuses Dean greatly. Pointedly looking down at the ash under Mac's hiking boot, he brazenly drawls, "Dude, you know you're stepping on your toasted BFF there."

Enraged, Mac takes a swing at Dean but Dean easily dodges back, lands a blow to Mac's ribs that drive the man to his knees, to land into Wendigo ash.

Sam is about to come to Dean's side, to be the peacemaker when Dean's head snaps left at the same time Sam's own instincts flare in warning.

But it's too late.

Something streaks through the insignificant three yards that separate the brothers, something faster than the human eye can follow.

And Sam's about to shout out a warning that there are two Wendigos…. but his breath catches in his throat because there's a jagged tear in Dean's jacket that wasn't there a second ago and blood is beginning to slip through the hole in the material to drip down his brother's back. "Dean?!" he fearfully calls out but Dean's already falling and Sam knows he's not close enough to catch him.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading. So loved the awesome reviews on last chapter…kinda proud of myself that I shocked you with that gory cliffhanger!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W


	9. Chapter 9: Don't Scream

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: So I'm not a doctor, I don't even play one on TV. In other words, any and all medical references in this story are hooey and should be treated as such. But it is so fun to injure Dean.. And sorry, no Purgatory flashbacks this chapter. But the good news is, the next chapter is already written and includes another flashback.

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Chapter 9: Don't Scream

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Rule # 9: Don't scream, even when your guts are hanging out, unless you want that to be just your first scream of many to come.

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Racing forward, Sam crashes to his knees at Dean's back and immediately curses at the amount of blood already running rivets down Dean's jacket and pooling on the ground. "Dean, I'm here, I'm here," he hoarsely comforts, resting his one hand on Dean's arm while reaching out with the other to lift Dean's jacket. At the sight of his brother's wound, his breath catches painfully in his chest.

The Wendigo's talons had dug deep. Deep enough to shred skin, sever muscles and expose a rib bone.

Hurriedly stripping off his coat and his button down shirt, he presses the shirt against the wound, hard, hates that Dean bucks slightly at the increase in his agony, claws his hand in the underbrush, trying to find an anchor. But his brother doesn't utter a sound, not a whimper, not a cry, not a curse, nothing, his lips stay firmly sealed.

And that tears into Sam's soul, that Dean buries it all, his agony, his words, his heart..his soul. Doesn't let him in, doesn't let anyone in. Ripping his gaze from Dean's wound, he scans behind him, looking for his bag that he had dropped, sees it a few yards away, out of his grasp. "Get my bag," he orders, his eyes snapping up to the stunned twosome.

Mac doesn't even spare him a glance, is staring off into the woods. His voice is full of ill-placed wonder as he murmurs, "There's another one…we still have a chance to catch it."

"Get my bag!" Sam shouts, nearly screams, the crescendo of his voice having little over the Wendigo's shriek not five minutes ago.

His tone breaks through to Vicki at last. Obediently, she finds Sam's discarded bag and drags it back to where the two men are, one of which who is now unnaturally quiet. She gets close enough to note how still Dean's lying on the ground, to hear the harshness of his breathing…and to see the blood. So much blood. Hand coming up to her mouth in horror, she stumbles back, "No…I don't…this shouldn't be happening."

Vicki's reaction, it just reinforces what Sam already knows. And he hates the woman for it. Hates it worse when Dean doesn't offer up a cocky comeback to downplay his injury, doesn't attempt to be the ever invincible hero for the benefit of the beautiful woman. '_Or for my benefit._' And that stark omission, it means something terrible, just like the fact that Dean hasn't even called out his friggin' name, hasn't acknowledged that he even knows that he's there does.

One-handedly opening the bag, Sam digs to the bottom until his fingers find the supply of bandages. Using his teeth to rip open the package, he places the bandage over his already saturated shirt and increases his pressure on the wound, desperate to stop the flow of blood. He grits his teeth at Dean's sharp intake of breath, when his brother's body arches forward, as if Dean wants to get away from him. Though he knows it's the pain he's inflicting on Dean that his brother's trying to escape, and not his presence, it still sends grief burrowing down into his soul.

Leaning over his brother's suffering form, he gets his first look at Dean's face and it doesn't do a thing to assuage his panic. Dean's eyes are clamped shut, his skin's so pale it's nearly bloodless and every line in Dean's face speaks of agony. Releasing his grip on Dean's arm, Sam settles his trembling hand upon Dean's sternum and leans down closer to Dean, knows it's as close to a hug as he can offer without hurting Dean worse. "Hey, you're going to be Ok. I mean..you've had way worse than this little scratch," he tries to wise-crack, to make it all seem not so serious, to not let Dean know he's friggin' terrified. But the wobble in his tone probably gives it all away. Because, yeah, Dean has had a worst wound… …when the hounds had shredded him apart and dragged him to Hell.

Dean doesn't say anything to Sam's claim, can't, not when he's sure a scream will erupt out of his mouth instead of words. But Sam's right, he's had worse…course that ended up with him being dead and waking up in Hell. And that time, he had shouted, had _screamed_. But worse than that, _**Sam**_ had screamed, had begged, "No! Stop it! Nnnnooo!" And his brother's screams of anguish, they had followed Dean to Hell, ripped at him as deeply as Alistair's knives ever could.

Dean swore to not put Sam through that again.

Though he already has the tang of blood in his mouth, Dean bites down harder on his lip, on the bellow of agony as Sam further increases the pressure to the wound on his back. Fights with everything he has to not die…or at the very least, have the decency to do it quietly. '_Because something's always out there, listening, hoping, hungry. Any sound could alert them to our presence, could bring death, not just, mercifully to me, but to anyone stupid enough to be with me, like Benny, like Cas.' _

Seeing blood beginning to stain Dean's lips has Sam fearing the worst, that Dean's bleeding internally, badly. "Dean! Hey, stay with me!" And he slides his hand up to press at Dean's neck to tract his brother's pulse, which is slow but still chugging along. Then his fingers slide up to Dean's mouth, wipe away the blood on his lips, as if he could make the possibility that Dean was dying vanish as easily. Some stupid, out-of-sight-out-of-mind propaganda he wants so hard to believe.

Sam's voice, Sam's touch, it brings Dean back, reminds him that Sam's with him now, that he's not in Purgatory anymore, that he can maybe afford the luxury of screaming. If Sam wasn't there, couldn't hear him, wasn't eviscerated by his big brother's weakness. No, there would be no easy outlet of pain, not in front of Sam, not when it would hurt Sam.

And it's that incentive, his unquenchable need to make things better for Sam, to be the partner Sam deserves, which gives Dean the strength to open his eyes, hiss out, "Two."

At the glorious sound of Dean's voice, no matter how weak, how wracked with pain it is, Sam fights back a sob of relief. Leaning his forehead onto Dean's shoulder, he can't speak. Not right away, has to swallow hard for a few moments, until he can finally raise his head, zero in on Dean's profile. Of course Dean would make his first word about warning him, trying to keep him safe. Gently he soothes, "I know, Dean. I know. Don't try and talk."

But Dean disobeys his command a heartbeat later, murmurs, "Sith."

And if it were anyone else quoting Star Wars' '_Always two, there are_,' while gravely injured, it would be a sign of delirium. In Dean, Sam recognizes it for what it is: his brother's way of reassuring him that he's fine, that he shouldn't go all chick flick on him. "Jerk," he chokes back, the insult overflowing with affection, love. "You're scaring the crap out of me and you wanna reference some movie?!"

"One of the best…movies …ever," Dean haltingly defends, his eyes slipping closed because it's too much, the pain, the strength it takes to just talk, to try and prove to Sam something he's not sure isn't a lie. And the sad part is, he's not even sure who the lie's for more: himself or Sam.

Whatever comeback Sam was about to make is lost as the Wendigo shrieks again.

Head snapping up and his hand snatching Dean's dropped flare gun off the ground, Sam scowls as he realizes the gun's shell has already been spent. Using his pickpocket skills to good use, he eases a flare cartridge from Dean's jacket, mercifully without causing Dean further pain. After loading the gun, he scans the woods, is fully prepared to protect his downed brother, any way he has to. But the creature doesn't re-enter the camp, sounds as if it is breaking through the forest in the opposite direction, away from them.

Such a reprieve isn't typical of their luck, which is probably why Sam doesn't relax his guard, stays there, kneeling by his brother, weapon in hand, waiting. He almost shoots Ivan when the ex-soldier jogs back into the camp.

"I tranqed it..the second creature," Ivan announces, his voice both full of pride at his own skill and incredulousness at what he has just done….has just _seen_. "It didn't drop but it will soon. We just have to follow…" but he breaks off as he realizes a member of their unit is down. Urgently he comes to a crouch by Dean, his eyes take in Dean's pale face before they jump up to Sam. "How bad?"

It's the question Sam hasn't answered, even to himself, doesn't for Ivan either. "I need to get him to a hospital," and that's acknowledgment enough of just how serious the wound is. Because hospitals, they weren't their go-to place for injuries, '_Only unless_…' Sam hastily breaks off his own thoughts, his hand settling back on Dean's arm, grounding him to Dean, who worrisomely hasn't spoken again, hasn't offered up his standard, bravado rant of 'I'm fine. No way am I going to a hospital, Sammy.'

"Our cells aren't working out here," Vicki informs from her position ten feet back, wanting to be helpful but refusing to be an intimate spectator again.

"Satellite phone?" Sam ventures. Though he hadn't seen any of the group with one, it's not the time to simply rely on deduction.

"Not on this expedition's budget," Zeke refutes as he steps out from the woods, returns to his comrades instead of listening to Dean's order to stay in the circle of protection that they had set up half a mile away.

The man's declaration dashes the hope Sam didn't even think he was holding onto.

"Ok, there's a ranger's station that's closer than the road. It's still a day and half away but if we leave now, we can do a few miles before night fall," Sam strategizes, hopes it doesn't show on his face how unbearable the thought is that Dean won't get _**help**_ for nearly two days. And he refuses to even consider, for even a second, the possibility that Dean won't make it that long without help, might not be able to endure the grueling trip to the ranger's station. Because thinking along those lines, calculating those odds….it would only lead to debilitating terror and utter insanity. And Sam knows in his heart, he won't make it back from the heartbreak of losing Dean, not again. That he wouldn't have the willpower to even want to _**try**_**.**

Stalking up to the group huddled around the fallen hunter, Mac harshly repeats the word that had caught his attention, "Leave?! None of _**us**_ are leaving," clearly speaking for the group he led.

But there's immediate dissension in the ranks, comes from the unlikely source of Ivan. Looking up at Mac, Ivan gravely imparts, "Mac, he's badly hurt."

Flinching at Ivan's description, Sam tightens his grip on Dean's arm while his other hand continues to keep pressure on the wound with a bandage that is no longer dry. Eyes dropping to the wound, Sam wordlessly adds another bandage on top of the soiled one. Thinks it's like some sick version of the princess and the pea because, no matter how many layers he seems to put over the wound, he can still feel the warmth of his brother's escaping blood under his hand. A hand that trembles as he performs the task, makes a mockery of his outward calm.

Mac's response to Ivan's statement is without compassion. "He made the unjustifiably decision to kill the Wendigo, now he has to live with the consequences."

For the first time in years, Sam actually _misses_ his dark powers, wishes he could simply raise a hand…and inflict pain on Mac, all without getting up, without having to leave his brother's side. "Consequences?! He saved your life!" he savagely reminds the professor.

Pointing a finger at Sam like he is a recalcitrant child, Mac scoffs with malice, "My life didn't need saving! And if he hadn't murdered…"

"_Murdered_?" Sam acidly parrots. "Seriously?!"

Mac apparently takes that as an opportunity to venture into one of his favorite lecture topics. "Yes, needlessly taking a sentient being's life is still called murder, even out here in the wilds. His actions led to…" Mac's eyes mockingly drop to Dean's motionless, broken form.

A haze of rage settles over Sam, has him hurling a snarled curse at Mac. And he is _so close_ to losing control that he knows it should scare him, probably would scare Dean if his brother wasn't too awash in a world of agony to notice his little brother was about to _demonstration_ to the good professor the act of murder. But a moment later, he finds out that he's once again underestimated Dean's awareness of him, of his brother's uncanny instinct to know when he needs him, when only the presence of his big brother will make things right for Sam.

"Sam…" Dean rasps and Sam's world narrows down to just his brother. No one else matters, no one else exists as he leans over Dean again, worriedly takes in his brother's ashen profile.

"I'm here, Dean. I'm right here. Not going anywhere," Sam reassures, giving Dean's arm a squeeze to prove his point. Then he tries to shut out the arguing of Mac and his group, leans closer, barely hears Dean's wheezed order, "Finish… it," and he knows Dean's not giving him his blessing to end Mac.

Above the brothers, Zeke, ever the peacemaker, suggests, "Let's keep things in perceptive. Dean needs medical attention so one of us will help Sam carry him to the ranger's station."

"No! Just…no!" Mac growls, eyes blazing into Zeke's. "We are all here for this one purpose and it's within our grasp. We won't get the chance again, especially with prejudices like theirs…" an accusing finger zeroing in on Sam and Dean. " …thinking that death is the only thing a Wendigo deserves."

Vicki's voice is hesitant when she speaks up. "Mac…it's…it might not be as reachable as you think."

Stunned by her perceived betrayal, Mac turns to Vicki, rails, "You want to give up?! If you don't make this discovery, your career is over. You ready to go back to studying fly species?!" Spinning, he lances Zeke with his domineering gaze. "Everyone told me you were past your prime, couldn't track anymore. But you got us here, right where the thing _lives_. You want to just let that be an urban legend, what you did, what you can _track_?! You pack up now, your reputation's gone…and so it your business. And Ivan," he zeroes in on the last member of his group, "don't tell me you've forgotten the debt you owe me. One phone call and you're …right back to where I found you."

Standing up, Ivan snags onto Mac's arm and draws the man away, jerks his head for the other two members of their team to join him. Stopping fifteen yards away from Sam and his downed brother, Ivan drops his voice so only their group can hear his words. "Without help, he'll die. You want that on your conscience."

"I told him not to harm it. My conscience is clear," Mac coolly claims.

Ivan fists his hand in Mac's shirt, hisses, "I'm a _soldier_," like that says it all, that he doesn't have to point out the principles that go with the oath he took, about saving lives, especially American, _human_ lives.

"**Ex**- soldier," Mac corrects maliciously.

Lowly, Ivan growls, "I don't leave comrades to die!"

Mac jerks his head back to Dean. "Look at him…he's not going to make it to tomorrow _morning_…and that's if he wasn't moved. _But being jostled through miles of woods_?! You want me to tell your probation officer to revoke your probation, Ivan? Are you really willing to get sent back to jail over some guy who's going to be DOA even before you reach the ranger's station?!"

"Mac, it's just a friggin' Big Foot knockoff?!" Ivan snarls through clenched teeth, can't believe his friend is taking this experiment so seriously.

But Mac's deadly earnest in his reply. "No, it's the greatest discovery of our time. And I'm going to be the one to show the world. **We** …" he amends, eyeing his team, "**We **are going to be renowned. Now grab your gear and let's track the Wendigo. We need to reach it before nightfall."

"Mac…I can't…" Zeke protests but his words die off when Mac comes to stand toe to toe with him.

"How much did I invest in your business over the years?! What if I file suit against you, want it all back…with interest," Mac menacingly conjectures. "Your son, he joined your business last year right, guaranteed the business loan, put his house up for collateral. Be a shame if he lost it. Put him, his wife and their autistic kid out on the streets."

Zeke blanches at Mac's threat. His financials were on a razor edge already…if Mac did what he threatened?! "You're asking me to let a man _die._"

"No, we're just letting nature take its course. Alphas rules here." But at Zeke's continued look of objection, Mac compromises, "Ok, look. We'll come back here tomorrow and help Sam get his brother to the ranger's station. Agreed?"

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Watching Ivan herd his group away from the camp for their little tête-à-tête, Sam fears the outcome and knows now's the best chance he's going to get. To Dean, he directs, "Don't move. I'll be right back," and then, before Dean makes any reply, he climbs to his feet and quickly crosses over to Zeke's tent. He pulls the flare gun and the cartridges from the man's pack, only feels a momentary pang of remorse as he also takes Zeke's med kit, water canteen and the maps. But as he pulls the small mojo bag Dean had cunningly stashed in the front pocket of Zeke's bag their first night with the group, he knows the line he's about to cross.

And he crosses it without regret.

Because, when it comes down to saving his brother's life or someone else's, it's not even a choice. Not for him, is simply who he is, what Dean means to him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading. And love to my so generous reviewers!

And like I mentioned, next chapter's ready to go so I hope to have it posted early this week.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	10. Chapter 10: Your Life or Someone Else's

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: This chapter's flashback happens soon after Cas joins up with Benny and Dean.

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Chapter 10: Your Life or Someone Else's

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Rule # 10: _You can decide to save your life or someone else's, you can't do both._

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Exiting Zeke's tent, Sam heads into Ivan's, roots through the ex-soldier's possessions until he discovers the pill container he saw the man slip a pill from earlier in the day, notes it's a prescription pain killer, just like he thought. Though he hadn't seen any outward signs, Sam had had his suspicions that Ivan had been wounded in battle. The ex-soldier's stiff movements and pinched look of pain giving it away to someone trained to observe secrets in others. Pocketing the pill bottle, Sam also grabs the man's extra gun, box of cartridges, an insulated long sleeve shirt and his spare jacket. Then, after making a detour to pick up Dean's discarded bag, Sam comes back to Dean, this time dropping down to kneel in front of his brother.

It's an improvement that Dean has the energy to at least raise his eyes up to him. Would be worth a lot more…if the agony in Dean's eyes wasn't so blatant. It makes Sam's plan even harder to contemplate, especially when it's only going to hurt Dean further.

At the sound of the foursome's return, Sam drops the long sleeve shirt on the ground in front of him, covers Dean with Ivan's coat and hastily tucks the rest of his confiscated items into his bag before he stands up and turns to face the group. Though he's bracing himself for their decision, in his gut, he already knows what they've elected to do.

Mac stalks forward to Sam and emotionlessly proclaims, "Sam, keep Dean as comfortable as you can tonight and then tomorrow, when we return, we'll help you get him to the ranger's station."

And as much as Sam knew that would be the outcome, it still infuriates him, that these four people, whose help was crucial to Dean's survival, simply took a vote about his brother's fate and unapologetically decided that their ambitions trumped Dean's _life_. "You can't do this! Dean's hurt…he's…." but he can't say the rest. It would be admitting too much, accepting something he refuses to. And besides, the hard look in Mac's eyes, the shame in Vicki and Zeke and even Ivan's eyes, tells him it's a lost cause. But he rages against their decision all the same.

Stepping menacingly forward, invading Mac's personal space, Sam snarls, "Seriously, you're going to let my brother _die_ so you can study a flesh eating monster."

Mac doesn't even bat an eyelash at Sam's statement.

It's Zeke who makes a reply. "Sam, look…you couldn't have gotten Dean very far tonight anyway. So when we come back tomorrow morning, we'll help you carry him to the ranger's station."

"If we find the Wendigo fast enough, we could be on our way back to camp tonight, reach here by first light," Ivan pipes in, not sure what he's trying to do more: reassure Sam or assuage his own guilt.

Strangely, Ivan's lame encouragement, it's the opening Sam needed. "I know where the Wendigo's heading," he states, eyes swinging from Mac to Ivan, as if there's a kinship between he and the soldier now.

"Where?" Zeke asks even as Mac suspiciously demands, "How?"

Levelly meeting Zeke's gaze, Sam explains, "Dean and I tracked it earlier, found where it was taking the bodies of the other campers. It's an abandoned trapper cabin, about 5 miles west of here." Sam nearly startles when he feels something wrap around his ankle..until he realizes it's his brother's hand. He doesn't spare a glance down to Dean, doesn't have to. He knows exactly what Dean's touch means: that his brother's not happy that he's giving Mac and his group directions to the Wendigo lair. '_I'd friggin' lead them there if that's what it took_,' he grimly thinks, wishes he could reciprocate Dean's touch but knows he can't, not right then, not until he has done what he can to set Mac and his group on the right path.

"And you're telling us this why?" Mac suspiciously challenges.

Fury flares in Sam's eyes as he glares at Mac. "Because the sooner you find your trophy, the sooner you'll come back and help me save my brother's life," he bit out, like it is deplorable to him to aid Mac's research but a necessary evil if he wants his brother to live.

The explanation satisfies Mac, has the professor nodding. "Good. Ok, everyone grab your equipment and let's head out."

As Mac, Vicki and Ivan break away to their tents, Zeke remains, seems ill at ease under Sam's glare. "Sam, listen, if it were up to me…."

"Just get back here soon as you can," Sam curtly mandates and before Zeke can say more, he turns around, crouches down again by his brother's side, effectively dismissing the tracker.

Getting the message, Zeke leaves Sam and his brother alone.

Reclaiming his place at Dean's side, Sam notes that his brother's hand hasn't released its weak grip on his ankle, is still tenaciously there. '_As if he's afraid I'm going to leave him too._' And Sam hates that Dean's worry, it's not baseless, is routed in past experience. '_But never when he was hurt, when he needed him_.' But even his own little voice won't let that declaration go unchallenged. '_Right, because he didn't need you in Purgatory_."

But a more disturbing thought springs into his head: that Dean **didn't **need him in Purgatory, not when he had Benny. '_Isn't that what Dean's been trying to tell you all along?!_' But Sam rails against that outcome, at simply conceding his rightful place in Dean's life to a vampire, to even an Angel of the Lord…to anyone.

Knowing that he can't be selfish, not when lives are at stake, that he has to let Sam go, Dean retracts his hand from Sam's ankle, forfeits his possessive claim on Sam, buries the fact that the decision hurts worse than any physical wound ever could. "Sam…you have …to go with them," Dean weakly commands, as if he has the strength to enforce a thing.

His brother ordering him from his side when he's gravely hurt?! It's the height of lunacy, even coming from Dean. "What?! No, Dean! No!" Sam vehemently denies, tucking Ivan's coat tighter around his brother's traumatized frame.

"They'll…be …killed, Sam," Dean haltingly states, eyes boring into Sam's, needs his brother to see the outcome that is a given if Sam doesn't go with Mac and the others, if Sam doesn't kill the Wendigo before it snacks on the brainless research team.

Eyes purposefully dropping from Dean's, Sam makes himself busy by pulling out the pilfered pain killers and water canteen. Dumping two pills in his hand, he slips his other hand under Dean's neck and carefully lifts his brother's head a few inches off the ground. "Take these," he softly orders, not encouraged that Dean obediently opens his mouth, lets him drop the pills onto his tongue and, a second later, lets him press the canteen to his lips. Silently he watches Dean swallow down the pain pills, prays that they work fast.

Gently resettling Dean's head back onto the ground, he slides his hand to Dean's cheek, keeps it there as he looks down into his brother's pain-filled gaze. "We need to go. To head for the ranger's station, Dean."

But Dean has shoved his agony into a box, is not so out of it now that he doesn't understand the tense of his brother's statement, that Sam means to move out…now, not tomorrow morning. Stubbornly, Dean rolls his head in denial. "No, not without …Zeke…the others."

And Sam knows Dean's ruling isn't so Zeke can help Dean…no, it's because his brother fears for the four stranger's lives. Sam makes no reply, only recaps the pill bottle and canteen and stows them away. Then he opens Dean's bag, starts stuffing everything he deems necessary into his own bag and then pulls his coat back on, unobtrusively gearing up for the trip ahead.

Sam's refusal to answer him, to even look at him, it stirs something dark within Dean, has him reaching out, snagging Sam's hand. The unexpected contact finally gives him the chance to see his brother's eyes. "We can't leave…these people."

'_We're not so much leaving them as they're leaving us,_' Sam wants to shout but doesn't, would not let Dean dwell on the fact that Zeke and the others thought Dean's life was worth less than a friggin' Wendigo's. Aloud he says, "I need to get you to a hospital."

"Fine," Dean consents only to tack on, "They travel… out of here …_with us_, Sam."

Sam's heart makes an erratic skip, because Dean's not even bothering to protest his need for a hospital. And that revelation only generates a more heightened level of fear in Sam's gut. Fighting to not let that reflect in his features, he steadily holds Dean's gaze. "They're not coming with us, Dean," he uncompromisingly declares.

Wanting to insist, Dean tries to shift upright. Instantly agony rips through him and he miserably realizes that he hasn't managed to smother his cry of pain After that, he loses a bit of time, comes back to the land of the living with the familiar sound of Sam's frantic, "Dean! Hey! Come on, wake up for me!" showering down on him and the reassuring touch of Sam's hand on his cheek, on his chest. Blinking, his brother's harrowed features come slowly into focus. "Convince them …Sam. Put a …a gun ..to their heads. Can't stay…"

And it would be awe-inspiring if it wasn't so frustrating that Dean could pass out from an onslaught of agony and still come to arguing his case, for someone else's wellbeing and not his own. But Sam will not give in this time, will not give Dean what he wants. Can't. Too much is at stake; Dean's _life_ is at stake.

Sam's head jerks up as Zeke calls his name and he looks over his shoulder, notices that the other members of the research team have already headed out, are on the trail of the Wendigo.

"Sam, I'll be back by first light, even if I have to come alone," Zeke vows but Sam makes no reply, his glacier gaze simply sears into him. So, with one last look at the brothers, the tracker sets out with his team to locate, study and tag a Wendigo, to make scientific history, maybe at the cost of Dean's life.

From his vantage point on the ground, Dean can see Zeke, watches helplessly as the tracker leaves the camp. He wants to shout at him to stop…would too…if he had the breath. As it is, it's a study in agony to get out a few meager words loud enough for Sam to hear. "Sam…don't let …them go," he entreats as he slides his hand to his own chest and finds Sam's hand. He gives the hand in his a squeeze, desperate to get Sam's attention, for Sam to do what he's telling him to do, to head off the pending slaughter.

But when Sam's eyes leave Zeke's and come back to rest on Dean's damaged body, Dean's breath catches. He's seen the look in his brother's eyes before…but only a few rare times: When Sam's only wish was to have Lilith's head on a platter, after Sam killed Samuel and Dean couldn't fight the feeling that it had more to do with their grandfather's betrayal of him than being possessed. When his brother wanted to sacrifice Virgin Nancy so they could survive that standoff in that police station, when Sam demanded blonde Ruby teach him whatever dark tricks she knew so he could save Dean from going to Hell, when a just-out-of-a-coma Sam stabbed god-complex Cas in the back in what should have been a death blow. Eyes that blazed with unremorseful determination, determination not so much to champion the greater good, but to avenge the hurts inflicted on his brother, to save his brother's life.

Starting to see Sam's plan, what Sam is about to do for him, to _save him_, Dean forbids, "No, Sam…don't."

His mind made up, Sam doesn't deny Dean's perceptive guess of his intentions. "We don't have much light left. We have to go now." And with a final squeeze of Dean's hand, he reluctantly pulls his hand from Dean's grip and slips it around his brother's damaged form, preparatory getting a fistful of the back of Dean's jacket.

Understanding that Sam's not going to listen to him, not about this, not when he's blinded by his need to protect him, to save him, Dean presses, "The flare gun….Zeke has it…and the protective mojo bag…it's still in Zeke's backpack where I put it?" A backpack, thankfully, that Zeke had slung over his shoulder when he left camp.

Though Sam makes no reply, his eyes are dangerously obscure, and his body language telegraphs that he's geared up for a confrontation.

It's answer enough for Dean. And though he understands Sam's motives, (after all, he would do it for Sam, without hesitation), that doesn't mean that he condones Sam doing it for him, will allow Sam to heap the guilt of innocent blood shed on his soul. "Go after them, Sam," he commands, hands pushing, albeit weakly, against Sam's chest. "If you can't…stop 'em…teach 'em 101 …on Wendigos."

Sam gently captures his brother's hands, stills them. Meets Dean's imploring gaze with a mixed expression of sorrow for disappointing Dean and of unflinchingly resolve because he's committed to his path, to the choice he's made. And he's not going to deviate from it…not even to salvage Dean's good opinion of him. His refusal isn't defiant, is instead almost tender, "No."

"They're civilians. Without our help…they'll be hunted down …like sheep… for the slaughter," Dean stresses, needs Sam to recognize the full extent of what he's put into motion.

Solemnly, Sam declares, "I know." And he does, God help him, he knows that's exactly what's going to happen. Dean's horrified expression spikes hurt into his heart, makes his declaration, "We're leaving now" hoarse but no less determined.

"No, we're not… abandoning them, Sam," Dean refuses, can't let Sam do this.

But Sam's unrepentant gaze clashes with Dean. "Yes…yes, we are**. ****I**am," he amends because the guilt of this decision, its on him…not Dean.

And as much as he doesn't want to, Dean knows he has to confront Sam, state the unvarnished truth of what Sam's about to do, has set into motion with the group's departure, with Sam's "helpful" mapquesting Mac and the others right to the Wendigo lair, with his retaking of the flare gun and the removal of the protective mojo bag. "You can't put their lives …at risk… just to save mine,… Sammy."

"You doubted our…my 'deep abiding love for you ', well, this is it in action," Sam counters, tries to smile, to make it light, something Dean will accept.

Sam's justification leaves Dean shaken because the paths love has taken him down, like to Hell and being apprentice to Alastair, they aren't places he ever wanted Sam to go. "So say it… with a card…not this."

Giving a bitter smile, Sam huskily says, "That's not the way we do it Dean." Is not how their lives work, with choices easy, guilt free, _evil_ free.

"You can't…" Dean protests.

"Yes I can and I will," Sam unwaveringly vows, because his mind is made up and he's going to see his plan through, even if Dean ends up deeming him a monster. Knowing they are wasting time Dean just doesn't have, he gives a soft warning to Dean, "Brace yourself," before he levers Dean up into a sitting position.

With a stifled cry of pain, Dean slumps bonelessly against Sam, whose arms immediately go around him, hold him against his chest, gives Dean something to focus on beside the agony howling through his every cell.

Dean's smothered cry reverberates in Sam's soul long after the sound dies in the air. And he can't move, can't maneuver Dean from his chest to secure the bandage, can't rob Dean of whatever comfort stillness can offer after the cruelty of the enforced movement. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs in Dean's hair, wishes his acts of ruthlessness weren't just beginning. But just as he has sentenced four innocents to death, he will inflict pain on Dean to save him, has and will continue to do so many _many_ deplorable things to keep his brother with him.

And that resolve has him easing one hand free of Dean to blindly search on the ground for the shirt he liberated from Ivan. Finding it, he scoots even closer to Dean until he's sure Dean's wholly supported by his body. Reluctantly lifting his arm from around Dean, he maneuvers the shirt over the wound, then, to ensure the bandages stay in place and to add extra pressure to the sight of the wound, he pulls the sleeves around to Dean's chest and ties them tightly, forming a makeshift tourniquet.

Dean lets out a feeble whimper of hurt that pierces Sam's heart worse than a scream. "I'm done, I'm done," Sam reassuringly murmurs by his brother's ear. But Dean's head is lying heavy and still on his shoulder. It makes Sam fear that Dean's no longer conscious. "Dean?" he tentatively calls, his apprehension filtering through his brother's name.

"Yeah," Dean mumbles and then he does what he thought was impossible a second ago: he shifts back a few inches from Sam, raises his head and meets Sam's eyes. Does it for Sam, because Sam sounds freaked out, because Sam needs him to not lie down and die.

At Dean's stubborn show of loyalty, Sam's relief is palatable and he can't hold back a tremulous smile. "Thought you passed out, were gonna let me stuck doing all the heavy lifting, _like usual."_

"Builds character…." Dean mumbles, tries to straighten his posture, to prove that he doesn't need Sam's support to keep him upright. But it's a sham he can't pull off, his meager efforts only ending with him unceremoniously toppling forward to crash against the safe harbor that is Sam.

"Hey, whoa!" Sam anxiously exclaims, rocking back on his knees a bit at having to take Dean's full weight back so suddenly. He barely gets his arms around Dean in time to stop his brother from pitching to the right and ending up on the ground. As it is, Dean feels like a big broken toy in his arms. "I gotcha. I gotcha, Dean," he tenderly murmurs as he pulls Dean's nearly limp body over his shoulders into a fireman's carry and then pushes himself to his feet.

He stumbles under his brother's weight at first. Determinedly tightening his grip on his brother's arm and leg, he shifts Dean a little more to the right until his brother's weight is more evenly disturbed across his shoulders. Then Sam makes his way past the camp and heads in the direction of the closest ranger's station, to the only place that offers any kind of help for Dean.

Though the forest's silence is unnerving as Sam makes his own path through the foliage, Dean's silence is so much worse. Every second of it tears a greater hole in Sam's composure. But Sam doesn't break the silence either, is suddenly too worried for words. Instead, he contents himself with marking the rise and fall of Dean's chest against his shoulders, of bearing the reassuring feel of his brother's head against his back.

He hikes with his precious burden for a few minutes, nearly startles when Dean speaks, his brother's gravelly words vibrating through his chest.

"Sam…they'll die."

"I know," Sam admits, even as part of him is callously thinking, '_I hope so because that means my plan worked.'_

And Dean's not a fool, knows the sole motivation for Sam's actions: Him. "Don't do this…not for me."

"Who else would I do it _for_ Dean!?" Sam incredulously replies before he stops, closes his eyes, struggles to bottle up his emotions because it won't help Dean if he loses it then and there. Unconsciously tightening his grip on Dean's arm and leg, he moves again, creates his own way through the forest, unerringly heading to the ranger's station, to someone that can save his brother's life…because he can't. He knows that much. And it's the worst feeling in the world…and it's not even the first time he's felt it: Electrocution, car accident, hell hounds, Alistair, Dick Roman. He was there for them all…and was helpless to save Dean each and every single time.

'_Like I am now.'_

Unable to raise his head from his brother's solid mass of bone and muscle, to move, at all, needing to concentrate just to ensure he remembered to draw in breath, Dean is left with no weapons save verbal protests. "Sam, you …can't…"

It shouldn't surprise him that Dean's using the last of his strength to protest Sam's lifesaving actions, but Sam can't let him do it anymore. To use his strength to do anything but survive, keep breathing, stay alive. "You're dying, Dean!" his voice quaking on the cruel utterance of that blunt fact. "I don't have the luxury of time…or mercy. I need to get you to a hospital, as soon as I can. And I can't take the chance of the Wendigo coming after us, of killing me and leaving you defenseless or it hurting you again. So yeah…they're bait for it, will make sure it doesn't care about two prey that got away."

Hearing Sam verbalize his plan, it's worse than Dean imagined. "No…you can…you can take it out, Sam. Make sure it …doesn't hurt ….anyone else."

"It already hurt you, I don't give a crap about who else it kills," Sam sharply confessed.

Stunned at his brother's fierceness, Dean refutes, "No…you…you do."

Sam pulls on a bitter smile and there's unapologetic steel in his tone, "No, I really don't."  
"You'll…regret this," Dean warns, knows it's not too late, that Sam can still change his mind.

"No, Dean, I won't, because, contrary to what you think, I'm not Ok with you dying! Wasn't OK with you being…just gone," Sam admits, his own breath heaving, catching. "So believe me when I say, I don't care what I have to do…or who has to die to make sure I don't lose you again." Falling silent, Sam lets it sink in to his brother, what he's willing to do, how cold hearted he can be when it comes to protecting Dean, to keeping his big brother with him. When he speaks again, he has drastically gentled his voice, "Dean just…save your strength, alright? Because we're not going back for them."

And it's both a relief and heartbreaking that Dean doesn't make a reply, can offer up no more protests to his little brother's ruthless gambit to save his life. And Sam begins to fear that he's lost Dean's good grace, maybe forever this time, when Dean's previously dangling right hand fists some of Sam's jacket in his grasp and doesn't let go. Tears sprang to Sam's eyes at the simple gesture, at his brother's way of saying '_I still trust you Sammy, still have faith in you. Still want you with me.' _

"Right back at you, Dean," Sam murmurs, holding tighter to his gravely wounded brother as he doggedly traverses the forest landscape. And in that moment, it does take much of Sam's imagination to figure out how Dean won over the loyalty of a vampire: by being the most stubbornly loyal person to ever walk earth..or Purgatory.

**SNSNSNSNSN~~ Purgatory ~~ SNSNSNSNSNSN**

"Go help Cas!" Dean had barked and Benny…he had done it, had turned his back on Dean and the ghoul trying to eat the man and came to the angel's rescue. He took down two of the ghouls and the angel had dispatched the other two with a show of white light Benny didn't want to even ask about.

But the vampire didn't reach down a hand to help the angel up, instead he anxiously spun around as Dean's grunt of pain reached him. In a case of desperation breeding confidence, Benny made his first ever knife throw, did it just like Dean had taught him. And he watched in knee-bending relief and grim satisfaction as the blade buried itself in the chest of the ghoul who had sunk his teeth into Dean's arm.

Stalking over to the wounded creature, Benny killed it with vengeance, its head thudding to the ground beside Dean. A Dean who already had his hand out, indicating he was expecting Benny to get him to his feet. "Brother, you alright?" Benny worriedly asked as he pulled Dean to his feet then ran his fingers over the teeth mark tears in the sleeve of his friend's jacket.

"Fine," Dean dismissed, jerking his head to the four dead ghouls by Cas. "We get all of them."

"Yup. Now let me see the damage." Putting action to words, Benny started to push Dean's jacket off his friend's shoulder but Dean grabbed his hand and their eyes met.

"I'm ok, barely broke skin and ghoul bites aren't transforming so I wouldn't be turning the tables on you and trying to eat you by night fall," Dean reassured, lips turning up into a small smile.

"Well that's a relief," Benny sarcastically retorted, because that wasn't ever something he worried about, Dean turning on him, knew the man too well to worry about that.

Then, without a word, Dean took the lead, leaving Cas and Benny to bring up the rear.

Benny stepped closer to Cas, lowly growled, "Aren't you supposed to be some holier-than-thou miracles-up-my-sleeve, angel. 'Stead you're a liability. I wasted my time saving you when I should have had his back," jerking his head to Dean.

"Yes, it would be unfortunate if your way out of here got himself killed," Cas tersely volleyed back, judgment carrying in his tone for the vampire's selfishness. He didn't see the blow come, stumbled under the impact of Benny's fist striking his chin, was harshly reminded that he wasn't the strong angel he had once been. Before he could recover, Benny got a hold on his jacket, yanked him to be eye to eye with his glittering glare.

"He gets even another scratch 'cause of you, angel or not, I will roast your hide," Benny vowed before roughly shoving Cas away. Then he stalked ahead, only slowed down once he had gained Dean's side.

Still stunned by the vampire's reaction, by the true worry he sensed in Benny for Dean's wellbeing, at the fierce loyalty sparking in the vampire's eyes, Cas didn't move for a moment, stood there and let Dean get further away from him. But when he started walking again, closing in the distance to Dean, to the man that had garnered fierce loyalty in him without his consent, he couldn't help but wonder if that was Dean's gift, to acquire the loyalty of the most unlikely of beings. And always be oblivious to his worthiness to evoke such loyalty.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading.

Show of hands of who wouldn't sacrifice Mac and company's safety to save Dean? (Any takers? So hopefully you all aren't passing judgment on Sammy's decision. I do feel a bit bad about Zeke but the man has a mind of his own, is making his own choice.)

Ok, the next chapter is still a work-in-progress so any encouragement you send my way would be much appreciated to keep my muse alive and well!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	11. Chapter 11: Ways To Die

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Totally do **NOT **believe or try any medical stuff I put into this chapter. My cat could probably give you better medical advice than I can.

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Chapter 11: Ways To Die

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_Rule # 11: There is no safe haven, only less painful ways to die._

SNSNSNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSNSN

Even as each step he takes puts more distance between Dean and Mac's group, Sam expects to hear it at any moment: their screams, Zeke's and Ivan's and Vicki's and Mac's. To somehow know when they die, when the death sentence he gave them is carried out by the monster of the day. It doesn't matter that it isn't logical, that the sound, of even screaming, wouldn't carry the miles that must separate them now.

But for all of the heavy dread settling over him, he's not sorry. Can't be. Because to be sorry for condemning the four innocents would be the same as wishing Dean dead. Because a choice had to be made, their lives or Dean's. And by not heeding their warning about the Wendigo, by not helping him take Dean to the ranger's station, Mac and the others had made their choice. And then he had made his. There was no unmaking it.

Just like there was no unmaking his choice a year and half ago to willfully decide to not try and rescue Kevin from Crowley…and to give up hunting the very day his brother seemingly died to save the world. Decisions not bore from apathy but fury, grief. The levels of which…Dean couldn't see, wouldn't _want_ to grasp. And Sam wasn't eager to make Dean comprehend the depths of the motivation for his actions, feared that his brother would think so much less of him, even than he did now, would be sickened by the darkness, bitterness in his little brother's heart.

Because Sam hadn't _forgotten_ about Kevin as much as he just decided to not attempt to rescue him from Crowley's clutches. After all, the prophet was partially to blame for Dean being gone. Because if Sam hadn't had to go rescue Kevin, he would have been with Dean when his brother confronted Dick and he might have been able to change the outcome…or at the very least, share in his brother's fate. Kevin had made that impossible. Had condemned him, albeit unintentionally, to a life without his brother. And there was nothing more unforgiveable than that.

Then there were all the 'innocents' Dean thought he should have been off saving from monsters in the year that Dean had been gone. But when a hunt presented itself, all Sam could think was, '_Who was there to save Dean? To come to Dean's rescue?! To make sure I didn't lose my brother?!_' And the answer was always the same: No one. No other hunter, no other good Samaritan, no other heavenly creature except Cas. If Dean, the most unselfish, heroic man Sam knew, didn't deserve help, didn't deserve to be saved…then no one did. Certainly not by Sam's hands.

But in the end, his bitterness and grief, it didn't just manage to condemn Kevin and random strangers, it condemned Dean too. Had blinded Sam to the real possibility that he could get his brother back, that Dean could be returned to him. And how could he justify that failing, that weakness?! He couldn't…so he didn't try. Instead he pretended stoic indifference to the fact that he _left his brother in Purgatory to rot…_to maybe die in a way more permanent than they could comprehend. To fear for his life, every second of every day. To indiscriminately take lives so he could live….for at least a few more hours.

And inexplicably, Dean ended up alone to do battle for his survival, with not even Cas there to have his back. And with Cas' absence, Dean was desperate enough to make a dangerous allegiance with a vampire.

Cas had more to answer for than Alfie's death. Way more.

'_And still Dean doesn't seem to be holding a grudge against Cas anymore, has forgiven him ….quicker than he's forgiving me_,' And Sam can't fight back the spike of jealousy at that truth, wishes he knew what Cas had done to get back into Dean's good graces, despondently wonders if that feat was only something an angel could pull off.

**SNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNS**

It shouldn't have shocked him, or caught him off guard. There were monsters everywhere…Dean should have suspected that some Loch Ness Monster wanna-be would be swimming under the surface of the bodies of dark, oily water. But still he nearly shrieked like a girl when a tentacle splashed from the water and coiled around his ankle.

He didn't even have time to hack at the fishy appendage before he was knocked off his feet and, true to form, lost his grip on his knife. The next second he found himself being drug into the water. Hastily, he drew in a deep breath before his head followed his body and was wrenched below the water's surface. And it was stupid that, as he was being dragged down into the water's dank depths, his mind went to Star Wars, to the scene in the trash compactor. A scene that Sam loved so much, mostly because his little brother got to tease his fearless big brother about the time they took a dip in a bay without their Dad's permission and Dean had freaked out when some seaweed touched his leg.

'_Sam might actually find it fitting, me being taken out by some sewer/water monster_,' Dean darkly mused, even as he frantically struggled to get the tentacle free, to pull himself from the monster's grip. But Nessie wasn't giving up her prize and Dean was plum out of air.

Suddenly a hand grasped his wrist, pulled him up with incredible force and for a moment, he feared that he would lose his leg in the tug of war. Kicking out with his free leg, he connected with the tentacle and it slipped free and then he was being propelled to the surface. It felt like an eternity until his head broke the surface, until his burning lungs choked on their first breath of air. He didn't pull away as an arm hooked around him, kept him from sinking back under as his body's lack of oxygen made him lightheaded, made him forget a moment where he was, who he was with.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that his rescuer didn't have shaggy brown hair, was not Sam but Cas, doing another version of his 'gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition', which Dean was so ok with him right then, even if it resulted in another memorable handprint burn scar.

Then Cas was half swimming, half carrying him to the shoreline, didn't release Dean until they were both standing on the embankment, drenched but thankfully in one piece. Bending over, Dean choked on the water he didn't even know he had swallowed, was about to offer a thanks to Cas when another slimy tentacle shot out of the water and slithered around his arm.

Anticipating what would come next, Cas tackled Dean and held onto his friend as the water monster used its latest hold to try and pull Dean back into the water. Dean gave a growled cry of pain by Cas' ear as his arm was nearly dislocated by the resistance.

Then Benny was suddenly there, slashing down with his knife, cutting the tentacle into two pieces. With his sudden release, Dean toppled backwards, right out of Cas' hold and landed on the ground. In sick fascination, he watched as the bloody, stumped appendage retreated back into the water.

Sinking down to his knees beside Dean, Benny worriedly demanded, "You alright?" But when Dean didn't tear his eyes from the water or make a reply, he grabbed Dean's chin, forced the man's eyes to meet his. "Any numbness? Any burning? I need to know if it had venom, if you've been poisoned, right now!"

"No, nothing," Dean stammered before he solidified his answers, "I'm Ok. Not poisoned, no bad reaction to whatever that thing is."

For a moment, Benny didn't reply, simply stared him down, until he was sure Dean wasn't shining him on about being OK. "Figures even the not so little fishys would like a taste of you," he teased as he began uncoiling the disembodied tentacle from around Dean's arm. He scowled at the abrasions left behind on Dean's skin.

Realizing that the creature had no intentions of letting Dean go, Cas waded determinedly into the water, would kill the monster before it made another attempt to take Dean.

Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, Benny knew what Cas had in mind and whole heartedly agreed. Putting his hand on Dean's chest, he commanded, "Move back from the shoreline," then he joined Cas in the water, barely ducked in time to avoid a tentacle to the face.

From his vantage point on the shore, Dean watched the vampire and angel battle the sea serpent. And for all the farfetched things that he had seen in his life, what he was seeing now, felt surreal, like some CG scene out of a high budget Hercules movie. A scene he belonged in, especially since the fight was over him.

Pushing to his feet, he retrieved his knife from the ground where he had lost it and waded back into the water. But he never got a chance to land even one good blow, instead, two tentacles plowed into him. Flying through the air, he hit the water a few feet away like it was cement. Stunned, he sank under the water a ways before he managed to stop his descent and began to swim for the surface.

But like some B-creature-feature movie, a thick tentacle slithered around his torso and began to pull him down, further away from the meager light Purgatory called daylight. Not defenseless this time, he stabbed the tentacle with his knife. That earned him a boa-constrictor response from the sea serpent.

As the tentacles mercilessly tightened around his torso, seemed intent on crushing his rib bones…one by one, Dean fought back a cry of agony, knew that to open his mouth was to drown. All the while, the water grew darker, the light fading away, along with his chances of making it out of this one alive. When his back collided with something unmoving, he starkly knew just how deep the body of water was… because he was pinned to the bottom of it. It was a poor time to think of how a crocodile would take its victim to the bottom to give it a death roll.

It gave him the incentive to stab the tentacle again and again but the monster's hold didn't weaken, only tightened more. Morbidly, he accepted that it wasn't likely that he would see dry land again. Or Sam. '_Sorry, Sammy, I screwed up. Guess I'm not getting back to you this time.'_

And the void was closing in on him, seemingly for good, when the tentacle loosened. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, he weakly shucked out of their grip and swam sluggishly for the surface, fought back the black edges in his vision, clung stubbornly to consciousness as he forced his arms and legs to move, to propel him up, toward the light. His head broke the surface right before he was sure his lungs would burst. He couldn't even put up a fight when something grabbed him. Could only thank God that the hand on his arm, it was human, belonged to Benny.

Towing Dean to the nearest embankment, Benny roughly hauled his friend out of the water. "I've had hounds that listen better than you do!" Benny shouted, clearly livid. He showed his displeasure by dropping Dean, none too gently, onto the embankment to land on his back. Then, towering over the drenched, nearly drown man, he berated, "Cas and I had it under control!"

Dean couldn't reply, couldn't defend his actions, was too busy hacking up water, wheezing in air, holding his badly bruised ribcage.

Leaving a dead sea serpent in his wake, Cas, his trench coat water-logged, climbed free of the pond and stalked over to his human charge. Reaching down, he jerked the still coughing Dean off the ground and shoved him against the nearest tree. "You think I attacked that thing for any other reason than to keep you safe?!"

Anger helping to abate his burning lung's protests, Dean defiantly choked out even as he tried to disengage Cas' manacle grip on his jacket, "Who asked you to?! I coulda taken the thing."

"Ever since I pulled you from Hell, I've done the most….illogical, suicidal, blasphemous things…." Cas raggedly recounted.

But Dean interjected the angel's condemnation. "And that's my fault?! You made your own choices, Cas. Choices I told you NOT to make, practically begged you not to make."

"Yes, I made the choice to try and get your brother out of the cage and back to you. And I chose to not rip you away from your life with Lisa and Ben to fight in heaven's war alongside me. And I choose to let Crowley use your grandfather, Samuel, instead of you to hunt down the Alphas. And I let Crowley manipulate me…just so you would be safe, so Raphael couldn't free Michael and start the apocalypse all over again. So don't you dare say that what I did was for anybody but you." With one last shove against Dean's chest, Cas walked away, knew he had to distance himself from his friend, had to quell his fear of a moment ago, that Dean had truly died this time. He had to think clearly..not emotionally.

Coming to Dean's side, Benny quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "Guess some of us do get our own personal guardian angels."

**SNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSN**

Dean's rasped, "Sam" breaks into Sam's thoughts.

No matter how weak, how pained his brother's voice is, it still sends a wash of relief flowing over Sam. Because Dean's uncharacteristic silence the last hour, which had only been broken by an occasional moan of pain when Sam made a misstep, had been unnerving at best, wracked on his nerves worse than anticipating screams renting the air. Though he can't see Dean's face, he reassures himself with the comfortable weight of his brother's head against his back. "Hey, how are you doing? We got another half an hour of light left before we stop," his tone falsely cheerful, like this is some expedition they took on for fun.

Dean swallows hard, tries to form the words, any words. After all, it has taken him a good while to even get out his brother's name. But what he wants to say next….even if his body wasn't wracked with agony, if any small movement, even swallowing, let alone talking wasn't a major accomplishment, the words wouldn't come easy. Never would. It doesn't mean they don't need to be said, have to be said before it is too late, before his chance is gone. Forever. "Not …your fault."

Sam's jaw clenches painfully. He should have known Dean would waste his energy on trying to make him feel better. "Dean, I'm the one that dragged you on this hunt…."

"No…Purgatory. Couldn't …have known."

Unconsciously, Sam's grip on his brother's leg and arm tightens, as if the mere mention of the place threatens to steal Dean away from him again. "I didn't know because I didn't try to find you. Dean …I…"

"Sss ok," Dean slurs, needs Sam to know this, wishes he could say more, tell him all of it. But there isn't time…_'And even if there was_…' he jeeringly questions himself, knows his proclivity to remain stoic, to cut himself off, even from Sam, it is hardwired in him, makes it nearly impossible for him to be honest with Sam…with even himself. "Forgive..you."

As badly as he had wanted Dean to forgive him, as angry as he was that Dean held his stay in Purgatory against him while claiming Benny his new bestest brother, it doesn't seem right, getting Dean's forgiveness now. "Dean," he chokes out.

"Sorry…Sam…my," Dean apologizes, knows his body is shutting down. That though he doesn't want to leave Sam, especially out in the middle of the woods with a Wendigo, fate doesn't care, has never cared what he's wanted.

Sam frowns, replies back in confusion, "Sorry for what?" But Dean doesn't answer him. "Dean, you're sorry for what?" Still Dean's reply is silence. And it's not just about the words Dean's not saying…is about the breath Dean's not taking. "Dean! Hey!" Sam shouts, jarring Dean at knee and elbow but Dean's body is suddenly deadweight in his grip.

"Dean!" the panicked shout echoes in the woods as Sam crashes to his knees, uses his grip on Dean's arm and leg to slip Dean off his shoulder to land unceremoniously onto the forest floor. But Dean makes no protest at the rough handling, his eyes don't open and flash with a familiar but well-loved glare, he doesn't grouse at the leaf daring to cling to his hair, doesn't shift his arms and legs from their awkward angles, lies there pale, motionless, lifeless.

For a beat, Sam can't move, can only look down at his brother and remember…New Harmony, Dean splattered in his own blood: dead. When his trembling fingers can't find a pulse in his brother's neck, when the ear he presses to Dean's chest detects only a resounding quiet, when he understands, with despairing clarity, that Dean's apology, it is for this, for dying on him, he doesn't act the part of the seasoned hunter, or the well-versed researcher, or the level-headed one from their family.

Instead he comes apart.

Violently grabbing his brother's face, he rolls the limp head until he can fully see the face he knows better than his own and shamelessly begs, "Dean! Dean?! No! No! No! Breathe!" But he finds no reassurances in the beloved features, not in the closed eyes, in the nearly translucent skin, in the heaviness of the head cradled in his hands. "No, you don't get to do this to me!" he growls out, fisting one hand in Dean's shirt and giving it a shake, giving Dean a shake even as his other hand clasps onto the back of his brother's neck in a hold too tight to be gentle.

"You don't quit! That's not who you are!" he angrily yells down at the forlorn figure of his bigger-than-life brother. "Dean!" he nearly roars as Dean defies him, doesn't come back to him, is set to stay gone.

But Dean leaving him, that's not acceptable, will never be acceptable. "Screw you! I'm not letting you go!" Then Sam's hands find purpose, begin chest compressions. "If you won't fight, I'll fight for the both of us," and it's as much a promise as a goad. Neither gets a rise out of Dean.

"Where ever you think you're going…I'll drag you back, you know I will," Sam hoarsely vows, knows he sounds unhinged…and he is. He can't do this again, can't lose Dean again and start over, doesn't have the pieces left to put himself back together, not another time. "Don't go, Dean! You wanna punish me…find another way. Not this. Not this Dean!" His compressions becoming more desperate, losing their rhythm…a rhythm Dean's refusing to join.

And Sam doesn't even know he's crying, not until something breaks free in his throat and his next breath comes out a sob. It's like a flood gate release, because he can't shut it down, can't hold it back, can barely keep up the compressions when he's being torn apart from the inside out, when his world is dying under his hands.

"No, please!" he cries out, as his hands falter until they still, latch onto Dean's shirt and his head bows to rest onto Dean's chest. A chest that is horrifying still. "Please, Dean. Please. I know everyone dies….but don't leave me. I need you, I'm always going to need you."

But there is no miraculous resuscitation, is no rumble of Dean's voice saying 'no chick flick moments' is just the abyssal hole in his world which only Dean can fill. "No, no," Sam sobs, eyes clamping shut, tears dripping onto Dean's shirt. And it can't end like this, for Dean, for them. On some crappy Wendigo hunt, stuck in a lousy forest, all to protect some people who didn't even think Dean's life was worth saving.

Cursing, Sam raises his head, looks to Dean's face, and reaches out a tender hand to cup his brother's cheek. Right before he delivers a resounding slap that snaps Dean's head right. "You're not leaving me. So suck it up, Dean." Another slap leaving a stinging red mark on Dean's pale face but Sam turns a blind eye to it, tells himself it doesn't matter, only one thing does: Dean breathing, Dean not dying. "You really think I would have left you stay in Purgatory for even a friggin' day if I knew where you were?! Could have gotten you out?! You're not that stupid Dean!" adding insults to his repertoire as he fingers again make contact with his brother's cheek. Then he drags his bag closer, begins routing though it until he finds the med kit he had stolen from Zeke, rips it open and dumps the contents on the forest floor.

His trembling hands push through the supplies only to suddenly still when an EpiPen is uncovered. Mind racing, Sam vaguely recalls that, though the purpose of the needled prescription was to treat allergic reactions, it is basically a strong, fast acting shot of adrenaline. Grimly aware that he can't make matters worse, Sam jabs the needle into Dean's neck, hopefully sending the adrenaline flowing through Dean's blood stream to his heart.

And then he does the only two things he can do. He waits. And he prays that Dean does what he has always managed to do before: Comes back to him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the array of interesting comments on last chapter! They helped me get cracking on this chapter and get it done faster than I expected.

And about this cliffie…what? Me? Cruel…nah, nope…ok, totally.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	12. Chapter 12: Cold and Darkness

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

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Chapter 12: Cold and Darkness

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_Rule # 12: A fire may keep the cold and darkness at bay but what it beckons is far worse._

SNSNSN~ Present ~SNSNSN

A day in the Cage has nothing over the agony of waiting, of staring at his brother's lifeless body and praying to see movement, to detect any minuscule sign that Dean hasn't left him for good this time. Laying desperate hands on his brother's chest, Sam entreats, "Come on, Dean, this isn't you, you don't lie down and die. And I _know_ that you've never left me without a fight, don't start now. Dean!"

Suddenly a sound ricochets off the trees, causes Sam's head to snap up, a sound that travels to him from miles away: gunfire.

Before he can drown in guilt at what it signifies, Dean's moving under his hands, arching off the ground like a live current coursing through him. Instinctively, Sam catches Dean's body before it collapses back onto the ground, pulls his brother into his arms, holds the trembling, but resuscitated form with a jumble of care and possessiveness. He lets out a contorted sound that's half sob and half laugh. "Dean," the name overflowing with relief and love as he feels the rise and fall of Dean's chest as it rests against his, the heavy, reassuring weight of Dean's head resting on his collarbone. Unconsciously tightening his hold on his brother, he admonishes, "Don't do that again," but it's all about heartbreak not wrath.

Dean doesn't have to ask what Sam's forbidding him from doing ever again, understands how close he came to leaving Sam. And he wishes he didn't feel still on the verge of doing it again. No matter what Sam wants or what he wants, his body seems to have the final decision. '_But not yet_,' he vows and though he hasn't the strength right then to lift his head from its place on Sam's shoulder, to even move his hands, he manages to murmur one word, a word that sustained him through everything Purgatory threw at him, "Sam…my."

At his name from Dean, Sam's eyes close in contentment and he softly but fervently pledges, "I'm here, Dean. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere…and neither are you."

It's enough for Sam, Dean being alive again. Enough to counterbalance Sam's guilt for whatever fate Mac and the others are facing right then. Because he could not be at two places at once, couldn't protect the civilian's lives and get Dean closer to medical treatment at the same time. If he was there to save Zeke's life….it meant he wouldn't be where he is now, wouldn't be with his brother, wouldn't be here to forcibly and desperately rip Dean from death's grasp.

Kneeling on the ground, his brother's barely still functioning body in his arms, the flare gun hopeless out of reach should he need it, Sam knows that if the Wendigo came for them, if it wasn't off being sidetracked by easier prey, was instead hunting down the man who had killed its mate, they wouldn't stand a chance. And not just because, him letting go of his brother at that moment to fortify their position, it just isn't happening.

**SNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

They can't risk a fire in the territory they are presently in, logically Benny knew that. That it would be a beacon, a neon 'come and eat me' sign. And it's cruel irony that this night, out of all the ones that came before, is the one night that they needed the heat of a fire the most.

Well Dean did. The man's repeated dunkings in the lake by the sea serpent had left him soaking wet…and freezing cold.

'_Not like he's admitting any of that_,' Benny sardonically thought as he watched his shivering friend futilely try to stop the chattering of his teeth. It didn't temper Benny's frustration with Dean's stoicism much to know that Dean's actions weren't just about keeping up appearances with his companions. No, in the quiet of the night, making any sound louder than a whisper was suicidal, was like ringing a dinner bell to the things hoping for a midnight snack.

Believe it or not, Benny had been a Boy Scout once upon a time. So he knew about body heat staffing off hyperthermia. '_Course that's only useful information if you have any heat in your body to share with said freezing person'._ Which he didn't. Just another fun byproduct of being a vampire. '_Yeah, which means I can't do a thing to warm up my nearly frozen stiff best friend.' _Because offering Dean his jacket, his soaking wet jacket, yeah, not helpful. And Dean taking his clothing off to let them dry, not the best thing when an attack could be imminent, when even the thinnest layer of clothing was at least some protection against the slicing knifes and sharp teeth they usually had to fend off.

So all Benny could do was watch as Dean huddled deeper into his wet clothing, trembled against the tree trunk he was leaning against. Worriedly, he noted an alarming flush to Dean's cheeks. '_Like you were expecting good news?_' But when Dean's eyes finally fluttered shut, he foolishly clung to a thread of hope that the man had found a slice of peace…until Dean started to lightly thrash in his sleep, called out for someone that wasn't there. "Sam. Sam…my. Sam!"

That was Benny's breaking point. He couldn't just stand by and be a horrified witness to his friend's torment without trying to do something. Quickly rising and crossing over to Dean, he claimed a seat on the ground beside Dean, put his arm over Dean's shoulders and drew the man against his side. It was a testament to how out of it Dean was that he didn't fight Benny's hold on him, didn't flinch at the biting coldness of his vampirian touch, instead sank harder into Benny's chest and called out more emphatically for his brother.

Benny had never had a brother, hadn't known the bond that a connection like that could forge…until he had met Dean, began thinking of the younger man as kin, as a brother to him. A little brother. One that needed his protection. Rubbing his hand up and down Dean's arm, hoping to get the human's circulation going again, he vowed, "I'll get you back to him, Dean. I swear I will."

Unbeknownst to the vampire or Dean, Cas had soundlessly returned to their camp, had come at Dean's first call of Sam's name. But he had drawn up short at the sight of Benny sheltering Dean, not just from the cold…but from the man's nightmares. And when Benny made his vow to Dean, Cas, for once, was in wholehearted agreement with the vampire. Because no matter how much he and Benny snapped at each other, one thing was true of them both: they wanted Dean to survive this, to be safe_,_ to get back to his brother.

**SNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN**

Coming awake is hard, too hard, tells him he's slept way longer than he should have, that he's let his guard down. The fear of what's close, watching him, waiting to pounce, has his eyes flying open. He registers a few things all at once: that it's night, that nothing's standing over him ready to make a meal of him and there's a fire throwing off light a few feet away.

…_throwing off light…._

A silent shout of "No!" rips through his brain as he dives forwards, knows he has to put the fire out, now. That its light is a beacon, will have every fugly from miles around coming for him. The first second he moves, agony explodes throughout his nervous system, but he pushes through it, has to. Has to put out the fire, has to survive another night here. '_And another and another and another…until I'm back with Sam_.' Because failure, it isn't an option.

Frantically he knocks over the teepee of flaming branches, will beat the flames out with his hands, if he has to.

But then arms coil around his waist, yank him backwards, prevent him from completing his task. "No!" he chokes out, surprised at the muted, weak sound of his own voice, at the lack of strength in his body to dislodge the oppressive hold, to free himself.

"Dean, calm down! It's me. It's Sam! You're with me!"

Dean only struggles harder in the arms that hold him now at chest and waist. "You're not… Sam. Sam's not…here!" he breathlessly growls, knows the game too well, how memories and desires seem so real here when he lets down his guard, when he's in that vulnerable place between being asleep and awake, when his body's not at its best. And then he remembers… getting sliced into, having a raging fever. And his fevers always breed Sam dreams.

Weak, fumbling fingers abandon their useless grip on the arm wrapped his waist, travel down to his boot and withdraw his knife. Though Dean has an opening to make a killing stroke, he doesn't, can't. Can never quit kill even the guise of Sam without regret. So instead he slices the sharp blade along the strong arm preventing his escape, watches the blood seep instantly to the surface of the skin.

Giving a startled cry of pain, Sam, however doesn't loosen his hold on Dean. Instead he shots his hand out to grip the wrist of Dean's knife welding hand and hold it away, so Dean can't hurt him…or himself, for that matter. "Dean, it's me! It's Sam. It's really me."

"Nice try…but Sam's….not….here," Dean heaves out, fighting to gain his knife hand free reign again even as he bucks in the arms that hold him.

Grimly, Sam knows he can't let Dean continue to struggle in his arms, is already envisioning his brother's wound freely bleeding again. It can't go on_. _He can't let it go on. So he mercilessly yanks Dean back against his chest and coils his arms tighter around his brother with cruel strength. It destroys the fight in Dean but the victory tastes like ash in his mouth as Dean moans in pain and sags in his grip. Frantically, Sam shifts his leverage as he finds his hold isn't about subduing Dean any longer but about keeping his brother from pitching forward to the ground.

Cursing, Sam bows his own head above Dean's limp, bowed head. "Sorry, sorry but you have to stop struggling, Dean. I'm here to help you." And it's so wrong that he has to tell his own brother his intentions, that Dean doesn't even recognize him, can't accept that he wants to help him. '_Yeah, because you've done such a bang up job of helping him lately..get out of Purgatory, keep the bad memories at bay_,' he bitterly condemns, coming to see why Dean's trust of him is in such short supply.

For Dean, unconsciousness is right there, a breath away, but he refuses to go into that good night without a fight, without knowing who is watching over him. Because, his captor isn't using his weakness against him to the extent that he could, hasn't killed him yet, has instead _apologized_ to him for hurting him. "Who…are …you?" he grits out, knows it's not good, how painful it is to breathe, how much effort it takes to mutter a few words. "Not…Sam," he stipulates, will not bear another utterance of that lie, not when he's at such a low point, when seeing Sam….it's all he wants, maybe because Sam's the last sight he wants to see if he's going to die.

For a moment, Sam doesn't speak, can't, not around the lump in his throat because Dean's wholly lost in Purgatory memories, memories he has no part of. Swallowing down the guilt, the disappointment that he's not the one his brother will accept right then, he tries for a light tone, but even as he utters a tremulous, "Right, ok, you got me. I'm not Sam," he knows a with-it Dean would read the desolation in the tone. But Dean doesn't shoot down his declaration, heartbreakingly remains unmoving in his grip, waiting for the rest of his lies to tumble out.

And it's painful, to think who Dean would welcome in the headspace he's currently trapped in. '_Not me_,' resounds in Sam's head, in his heart. "It's…I'm Cas," Sam proclaims, immediately cringes like the angel will come strike him dead for impersonating him.

Marshaling the strength to raise his head, Dean tries to pry away the arms trapping him. "Nice try but Cas….he bailed …on me. I'm not sure… if I'm looking for him… to kill him…or hug him."

Ok, so Cas not being with Dean all the time in Purgatory, Sam knew about that but Cas **bailing** on Dean, that is news to him. News that stokes his anger at the angel to a nearly blinding level. But he can't dwell on that now, not when he can feel something soaking his shirt, sickly knows its blood, Dean's blood.

Who Sam claims to be next, it's a testament to how desperate he is, how much he loves Dean. "Right, right. Not your angel either. Just….the vampire you decided to not kill."

"Benny?" And it guts Sam, the relief, the need, the affection in his brother's tone as he says the name of the vampire, of someone his brother deems a better brother to him.

It's like swallowing acid but he'll be anybody, any-friggin'-body to Dean if it allows him to reach Dean, to stop Dean from fighting him, to find a way to make sure Dean doesn't leave him.

"Yeah…it's Benny," he hoarsely continues the charade and when Dean doesn't refute his claim, he smothers his hurt, continues. "Can you stop shoving the knife in my face now?" He doesn't think he needs to adopt a southern twang but he'll do that to, curses Dean for meaning so much to him.

Finally accepting that he's in good company, Dean lets the knife fall from his shaking hand and drops his head back against Benny's chest, has come to trust the vampire to not use his weakness against him.

Sam fights tears at Dean's capitulation, doesn't know if it's about being relieved at Dean's surrender or painfully jealousy at the trust Benny earned from _his_ brother. '_Dean needs your help now,__ yours__. So stop emoting and start making it better for him!_' he rails at himself before he announces, "I need to stop the bleeding again."

"Why…you getting….thirsty?" Dean hoarsely teases his vampire companion.

And Sam's muscles freeze as he realizes all over again the dangerous, _suicidal_ choice Dean made when he accepted Benny as a traveling companion, as someone he trusted to be _thisclose_…even when he's bleeding out.

Dean speaks when Sam doesn't, when Sam can't. "Yeah… I know.… You prefer not to get… alcohol poisoning …from a lush… like me…. Gotcha."

And it's startling to be a part of the banter that must have been normal between Benny and Dean. Banter…not bickering. Not someone saying '_why didn't you look for me_' and someone replying that it was fine they didn't look because '_you were ok_."

For a moment, Sam increases his hold on Dean, can't let go, won't let go and then he makes himself move, do what's best for Dean. Untying Ivan's coat from around Dean's waist, he warns, "I'm going to lay you down," before he puts action to words, gently eases Dean from his arms to lie on his stomach on the forest floor. Though he knew what to expect, it still hits him hard, the blood soaked bandages and shirt around Dean's wound, the feel of the warm red liquid drenching the coat and layers of bandages as he pulls them free.

He doesn't spend time inspecting the wound, doesn't try to douse it with antiseptic, knows that infection isn't what's killing his brother. Severe trauma to his body and blood loss is. Two things he can't treat, not where he is, not without even the most rudimentary medical supplies, not alone. Pulling fresh bandages from the med-kit he presses them against the wound, hard. When Dean emits a frail cry of pain and weakly struggles under his painful ministrations, Sam chokes back a sob.

His hoarse, cracking voice is a travesty of his normal baritone as he pleads, "Don't die on me, Dean."

"I've been to the…9 circles… of Hell. Wonder where …you go…. after you've been …gutted in… Purgatory?" Dean asks the question neither of them knows.

"You're not going to find out," Sam gruffly swears, ignoring the stark proof of how wrong he might be…the blood coating his hand as he adds another bandage to Dean's back.

"You being…optimistic?!" Dean infuses sarcasm into his tone, does it solely for Benny's benefit because the vampire's getting that worried note in his tone. "I must be…bad off."

Sam's about to deny it but Dean speaks before he can.

"Benny, we had a good…run. But I'm…I'm calling it. You gotta go ..this time…leave me."

"Dean, no!" Sam huskily protests.

"Please, go…don't get wasted… being loyal to a …dead man," and Dean's instilling as much strength as he can, as he has in his command, needs Benny to not be another person who dies trying to save him. He's not worth that, never has been worth any of the lives lost so he could live. "You risked enough…for me…you don't owe me…your life. Just sorry…I didn't keep my end…of the deal…didn't save you… like you saved me… all those times."

Sam feels something twist inside him at the words not meant for him. At the glimpse into an unfaltering loyalty, like he and Dean once had. At the steadfast devotion between his brother…and Benny, a devotion that Dean doesn't doubt is there, will be there even in his greatest weakness, when he can offer nothing back in return except his loyalty.

"No….protests…this time. Just…go, Benny. Please," Dean implores because he's losing the battle, knows he won't be awake long, that he'll be an albatross for Benny, one that will only end badly for the vampire.

Dean's plea, the real fear and need in Dean's voice, it shafts a hole through Sam. Dean, honest to God, cares about the vampire, like Dean does anyone who accomplishes the impossible and proves themselves worthy of getting a glimpse of his soul, a soul Dean believes is dark and unredeemable.

Shame flows over Sam as he remembers how heartlessly he's reacted to Dean's friendship with Benny.

"_I just might be that hunter that runs into Benny one day and ices him." And in that moment, he had actually relished the idea of killing Benny, of taking him away from Dean, of backing Dean into a corner, of leaving Dean with only him to rely on. _

_Had bitterly scoffed at Dean's "Benny has never let me down," with a "Well, good on you, Dean. Must be great to finally find someone you can trust after all these years." Fear had taken residence in his gut at Dean's words, at the real possibility that, like Martin had said, Dean had made his choice…and it was not him._

_But he couldn't let it go, even though Dean had taken his "Move on or I will" ultimatum and called his bluff, sent him to figgin' Texas, __to Amelia, __like a neon sign of 'go and good riddance.' But instead of meekness when Dean surprisingly came to him, for him, he had thrown down another gauntlet, made Dean choose, him or Benny. And Dean had walked out the door, left him behind. And that had hurt worse than his father's 'if you're going, stay gone.'_

How many ways had Dean tried to make him understand that Benny meant something to him. '_And that should have mattered to me. Dean had lost so many people that he cared about, of course he couldn't stand to lose another, even if that someone came with fangs and a thirst for blood. And what do I do? I threatened to kill Benny, to take away someone Dean considers a friend.' _

Sam felt sick at how he had handled things, that he had let his jealousy get the better of him, especially in light of how Dean was talking about Benny, supposedly to Benny in his delirium. It made it nearly impossible for Sam to deny that the vampire _deserved _at leastsome of Dean's trust. '_Yeah, and shows why I lost Dean's trust by leaps and bounds since he's been back.'_

"Benny…go…" Dean weakly orders.

But Sam's knows now that Benny wouldn't obey that order, would stick by Dean…no matter what._ 'Just like I will, whether Dean believes that anymore or not.' _Aloud he speaks for Benny and himself when he firmly declares, _"_Not happening, Dean. You're stuck with me. We're a team, remember. We'll see things through together."

Dean exhales in defeat, feels himself sink harder into the underbrush as he realizes he's going to lose this round, that Benny's a lot like Sam, too stubborn for his own good. "Pep speech…really, dude? Next thing I know…you'll tell me…we're actually gonna …get outta here…that I'll see…. Sam again."

At his name unexpectedly making an appearance in Dean's comeback, Sam's breath catches and his heart swells. Even there, in Purgatory, with Benny's steadfast loyalty, Dean's thoughts were of him, his brother was still determined to get back to him. And it's just like Dean to make seeing his little brother a goal he'll literally walk through Purgatory to achieve. "You'll see him again, I promise, Dean, you will," Sam vows to Dean and takes an oath of his own, to be the brother Dean _expected _to find when he stepped out of Purgatory. The little brother who takes the risk to let Dean back into his heart, to not hold him at arm's length, terrified of losing him all over again. '_Cause that really stopped nothing, didn't it. You're right where you didn't want to be, afraid Dean's going to slip away. And it isn't any less decimating this time than it was when he disappeared and you thought he was lost to you forever.' _"You'll see him again," he repeats with more conviction.

"I hope so…" And then Dean's falls silent, stops wincing against the agony Benny's inflicting on him with his cruel pressure on the wound.

"Dean!" Sam shouts anxiously, his fingers frantically checking for a pulse…and finding one. But the relief Sam's feeling is tempered by the bitter knowledge that it might not last, won't, can't. That even with Dean's extraordinary strength, Dean's ridiculous tolerance for pain, his big brother's body still has its limitations, is just a corporeal shell, vulnerable, obedient to the whims of science. So this victory, it's fleeting.

And Dean doesn't even recognize that it's his little brother kneeling at his side, pressing blood soaked bandages against his back, surrounded by miles of desolate forest and breaking apart, because, Winchester or not, there's only so much Sam can take. And losing his big brother has never ever been on the list.

SNSNSNSNSN

TBC

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Ok this chapter was supposed to get farther along in the plot than it did but I just couldn't bear to leave you all with the image of Dean dead stuck in your head while my muse and I duked it out over the other things I wanted to put in this chapter.

Many thanks for reading and for all my wonderful reviewers who didn't hog tie me for killing Dean last chapter.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	13. Chapter 13: Crying Out For Help

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

SNSNSNSN

Chapter 13: Crying out for Help

SNSNSNSN

_Rule # 13: Crying out for help is only a good plan if you're in a world where heroes exist. _

**SNSNSN~ Present ~SNSNSN**

Sam's voice echoes in the forest, "Not like Dad, Mr. Marine, would ever admit it but he hated camping as much as you did. That time you were sidelined with that burn and I went with Bobby and Dad on that hunt for that were-cat, Dad griped the whole time, worse even then you usually do," Sam gives a forced chuckle, looks down to his brother's face pressed into his shoulder and wishes Dean would be up to grousing at the insult. But Dean's non-responsive, lies compliantly in his arms, is still, except for the tremors.

Sam doesn't need a doctor to know shock has set in, that Dean might still be fighting but his body's failing him. It's the reason he made Dean give up his comfy position lying on the ground to embarrassingly being held by his brother, to stave off the cold, to keep him warm, to let Dean know that he's not alone, that he's not allowed to go. Sam would totally not classify it as cuddling but Dean would, the macho jerk would be fighting him every step of the way. If he were awake, if he could manage to even open his eyes, if he weren't so delirious right now that he didn't even know where he is, let alone who is holding him captive in their arms like he needs to be protected.

'_But you __do__ need to be protected. You've protected me my whole life…so it's Ok for me to return the favor, Dean,_' he thinks, wishes he could tell Dean that and his brother would accept that turn around was fair game. But the words now would be lost on Dean, just like his story probably is but he can't bear the silence anymore, had hummed all the Metallica songs he knew, which, at one point, had slipped over into the theme song for the Smurfs without his say so. And the fact that Dean didn't bust him on that, was worse than Dean not interrupting his story right now to defend himself.

Shifting a little so his back isn't pressed into the knot in the tree he is leaning against, Sam keeps his arms around Dean, makes sure he doesn't jostle Dean too much in the process. Dean doesn't mind, though, is listless weight in his arms, is a broken, vulnerable, seemingly ethereal figure. Rubbing his hand up and down Dean's spine, careful to not get near his brother's wound, Sam continues his story, "So we're tracking the were-cat and Bobby and Dad, they're arguing over whether it'll be a cougar or a bobcat, and Dad walks right into this friggin' gigantic spider web, I mean, the Lord of the Rings web had nothing over this thing." Unexpectedly, Sam's laughing for real. "And Dad…he's dancing around like a mad man, hands scrubbing through his hair, all over his body, is freaking out thinking that there might be a huge spider on him." When Sam's laughter settles down, he shakes his head fondly at the memories. "When he finally stops his freakout, Bobby rolls his eyes and drolly says to Dad, "If you're done doing your Travolta impersonation, can we go?"

Giving a last peal of laughter, Sam says, "You should have seen it. Totally priceless." Turning his head to the right, he rests his chin on Dean's sweat matted hair. "But it wasn't just camping Dad hated that time…it was about leaving you behind when you were hurt. He kept complaining about how the hunt was taking too long and I thought it was typical Dad being Dad, until I heard him talking with Bobby. He told Bobby that he shouldn't have left you alone, that he should bail on the hunt and go back to you. And he probably would have too…if the were-cat didn't choose that moment to attack us. Dad took it down with cold precision, thing was barely dead before he was packing up his things, ordering me to keep up as he headed back to the car…was intent on making it back to you in double-time. Dean, man…he was worried about you, always cared about you…even if he was jack at showing it."

At that Sam gives a snort of derision. "Guess I'm just like him, huh? Instead of saying, 'Dean I'm so glad you're back but I'm friggin' terrified of losing you again and would rather walk away from you than go through that again' I just threaten to leave you every chance I got…hoping you'd send me away because I wasn't strong enough to walk away, not from you. Not again. And then you did it, you sent me back to Amelia's and I…." Swallowing, Sam lifts his chin from Dean and lets his head drop back to thunk against the tree. "Even if her husband wasn't there, things couldn't go back the way they were between us. I had you back and…that changed everything for me." His voice cracks on the next words, "And if you go again…nothing is going to be OK, Dean. So you can't, alright. I'm making it a friggin' mandate, you can't go. "

But even Sam knows that Dean is just a man, is a hero, yes, but one without super powers to deflect bullets…or Wendigo claws, who doesn't possess a super human immune system to shake off blood loss and repair damages to his all too human body. That he needs help, now, not in a few hours, not miles away. Now!

Tilting his head up to see the ceiling of trees that nearly block out the night sky, Sam shouts out the name of the one person who can do the impossible, has done the impossible before, for Dean. "Cas!" When the angel doesn't miraculously show up, Sam's next call is practically a scream. "Cas! Cas! Dean needs your help!" Asks because, no matter how conflicted his feelings toward Cas are at the moment, he knows that the angel is Dean's best shot at survival, that he can't save Dean on his own, that Dean…he won't make the journey to the ranger's station. "He's…" and though the word gets stuck in his throat, he knows he has to say it, has to admit it if there is any small chance Cas will hear, that Cas will come. "Cas, he's dying." And even as the declaration leaves his mouth, he curses Cas because the angel should friggin' be there already, be kneeling by Dean, whisking his dying brother away to a hospital, into someone's care that can actually do something to save him.

Giving an enraged shout toward the heavens, Sam deflates, drops his head down to rest on the crown of his dying brother's head. Closing his eyes, he draws in a raggedy breath, feels his brother's labored intake and outtake of air, knows Dean's not given up, not yet. '_And neither can I,_' he resolves as he raises his eyes again to the heaves but his next words, they lack strength, only embody the desperate pleadings of a soul on the brink of being lost, "Cas…please. I know something's off with you but ….I don't believe you would abandon him." And Sam chokes back a sob. '_No, that's my MO, I abandon Dean, I turn my back on Dean_.' Aloud he entreats to the angel who Dean considers a friend, a brother. "But you don't Cas, even when you were….more insane than sane…you agreed to go with Dean, willingly risked your life to help him kill Dick. And I…I don't know all that happened in Purgatory, why you left him but….you didn't stay gone, couldn't walk away from him. Any more than I can."

Dropping his eyes to scan his surroundings, looking for a trench coat wearing angel among the trees, Sam bitterly curses. Cas hasn't come, won't be coming. There will be no extraordinary save this time.

Holding tighter to Dean, he dips his head down, murmurs by Dean's ear, "Screw him, right? We got this. All that we've been through, the odds we've beaten," Sam tries for lightness, hopefulness, "stupid Wendigo, well, two stupid Wendigos aren't going to ruin our record. Right? I mean, we have a reputation to uphold. So just…keep being your stubborn, macho self, Dean, Ok. Just keeping being you and we'll make it out of this." Because, no matter what, they were in this together, they were a "we", always, even when one of them had been running for his life in Purgatory, because, like Ash had said, he and Dean, they were soulmates. Their lives were bound together, and when one was lost, it meant something worse than death for the other.

And Sam had no desire for a repeat performance, would never forget the way it felt to be in a world where his brother no longer lived. Pulling Dean closer, he repeats, "We'll make it out of this, I promise," and hates that, even as the words leave his mouth, they feel like lies.

**SNSNSN ~ Purgatory~ SNSNSN**

"You're lying to him," Benny lowly drawled, eyes darting to the angel at his side.

With no outward reaction to the vampire's accusation, Cas monotoned back, "I don't know what you're talking about," even as his eyes flew to Dean ahead, hoped the man didn't overhear whatever Benny said next.

Reaching out a hand, Benny stopped Cas' progress, drew them both to a stop. "Subtlety ain't your thing, Cas. You've been saying it for days."  
"Saying what?" Cas returned, still had hope that Benny didn't actually know what he was lying about.

Stepping closer to Cas, Benny quietly growled, "That you don't think you can make it through the portal. But that isn't what you mean, is it?" a pointed challenge in the question. When Cas opened his mouth to make another denial, Benny cut him off. "You're not going to even try to go with him, are you?!" angry at the betrayal the angel was contemplating.

Instead of answering, Cas lobbed back his own allegation, "At least I'm preparing Dean for that possibility, what about you and your claim to not take human lives once he gets you free of here. Tell me that's not a lie."

"I don't eat people!" Benny hissed back. "I gave that up before I ever got sent here. And if you haven't noticed, I've not craved Dean's blood, not once."

Cas eyes almost held sympathy as he warned, "It will be different when you are resurrected."

"I would never hurt Dean!" Benny fervently vowed, couldn't believe the angel doubted that, after everything.

And something in Cas ached at Benny's loyal declaration, understood it but knew the pitfalls so well. "I didn't think I would hurt him either."

"I'm not you!" Benny heatedly refuted.

Eyes blazing, Cas latched onto Benny's jacket. "You don't have to attack Dean to hurt him. If you're over-estimating your control, if you kill a human, Dean will bear that blood on his hands, will feel the guilt of that murder as if he took the life himself. Because he let you out, because he trusted you."

The stark truth of Cas' words stole Benny's breath away, cut his retort off at the knees. For the first time, he understood the risk Dean was taking, not in trusting him in Purgatory, but by trusting him to not surrender to his thirst back in the world. "No…I…"

But Cas' head jerked up and he shouted, "Dean!" in warning a moment before then something rained down from overhead like meteorites and imploded with the ground all around them…before morphing from black goo to black clad Leviathans. Even though all four Leviathans immediately charged for him, Cas wasn't troubled, was instead thanking God that they weren't going for Dean. That he was still their target, that they didn't understand that the human behind them had dealt the killing blow to their leader.

A killing blow Dean treats the two Leviathans closest to him to before they could even take three steps in Cas' direction. Benny, always a quick learner, followed Dean's lead and removed the third Leviathan's head from her shoulders. Cas blocked a blow then delivered a punch and kick of his own to the fourth Leviathan. Benny grabbed the Leviathan from behind, nearly let go when the humanoid head turned into something with more teeth than any creature he had seen before, even in Purgatory. But still he refused to relinquish his grip on the monster, trustingly held the monster captive as Dean took his head. Letting the headless corpse drop from his arms, Benny stumbled back a step, looked at the black goo the creatures bled instead of blood, the head with the razor sharp teeth he knew that more than a few vampires would be jealous of.

"I take it these guys were Leviathans," Benny guessed, eyes going to Cas for confirmation.

"Yes," Cas replied but there was a grim demand in his eyes, a demand for Benny to recognize that his fear for Dean hadn't been unfounded, that his choice to stay away from his friend hadn't been about want, had been about necessity. That sometimes you needed to disappoint someone, seemingly betray them, if you cared about them, if you truly wanted to save them.

Benny's gaze fell into shadow as he looked to Dean, made sure his friend was in one piece.

Brushing off the black splatter of goo from his sleeve, Dean quipped, "Seriously, they rock the whole black suit thing here? Shoulda guessed Dick's dress code would be monkey suits. Think they know Dick's dead, that they don't have to dress up in Armani anymore? Can throw on a pair of bluejeans?"

"I don't know," Cas replied to Dean's question about Dick's death.

"Would it make a difference if they knew their leader was dead?" Benny asked, had been clued in on most of the Leviathan's make-snacks-of-the-world's-population scheme.

But Cas' eyes didn't go to Benny, went instead to Dean. "Yes. They would want to kill Dean more than they would want to kill me for banishing them back to Purgatory," he gravely predicted, revealed his fear all along, that the Leviathans that came for him…would suddenly find Dean a more satisfying object for their rage instead.

And it was finally making sense to Benny, how Cas, who seemed as loyal to Dean as the day was long, could have abandoned Dean to face off with Purgatory's worst all on his own. '_Because he was afraid that Purgatory's __real worst__ would come after him…and find Dean instead. Dean, who had killed their leader. And someone like that, who had killed not only their leader but their chances to be free, they might decide he didn't deserve death, might deserve eternal torment instead.'_

Sparing a glance to Benny, Cas saw the dawning of comprehension in the vampire's eyes that soon merged into a look of gratitude. And Cas thought Benny just might know how hard it had been for him to hear Dean's prayers, to know Dean needed him, and not to come to his friend's side.

**SNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSN**

At first, Sam doesn't recognize the sound that ends the quiet of the early dawn morning, fears that the Wendigo's coming, is noisily lumbering through the forest toward them. Scooping the flare gun off the ground, he swings it from one side of the forest to the other while his other arm still secures Dean against him. But nothing is breaking through the forest and the sound, it's from overhead.

_Helicopter._

It's too good to be true but Sam doesn't care. Just like he doesn't care if the flare he shoots into the sky starts the whole forest on fire, not if it gets the helicopter pilot's attention, not if he gets Dean out of here and to a hospital. And he's torn between sliding Dean to the ground and trying to wave frantically to the helicopter and holding onto Dean, of not abandoning the connection that he believes has kept Dean breathing, alive, all through the torturously long night.

In the end, he doesn't have to make the decision.

He brings the flare gun up to bear on a red haired woman in her late thirties who is sporting a orange jacket embossed with a search and rescue emblem. Limply dropping his hand, he stammers, "My brother…he's hurt."

The woman gives him a reassuring smile as she drops to her knees beside the two men, her gloved hand already reaching for Dean, taking his pulse. "We know. We got your distress signal, just had to wait for light to follow your GPS coordinates."

Suddenly Sam feels like he's the one who's delirious. "Wait, distress signal…GPS…"

But then a brown haired man, whose tan indicates he calls the outdoors his home, scrambles to Dean's side, asks of his female partner, "How's he doing?"

"His pulse is thready." She checks Dean's eyes before she reports, "Eyes dilated, not responsive to light."

When she gives a look to her partner, Sam interprets it as if she spoke aloud, bleakly knows he's still in real jeopardy of losing Dean.

The way the male paramedic reacts next confirms it. When he grabs Sam's arm, Sam nearly flinches away, has never really welcomed anyone's touch when he's freaked out, less it was Dean's touch.

"Listen, you have to let us take a look at your brother, alright? You've taken care of him this long, now it's our turn," the man says with surprising gentleness, like he can see the last thing Sam wants to do is relinquish his brother to someone else's care.

It's bittersweet, getting what he was nearly screaming for all night…and now not wanting them to take Dean away from him. '_You have to let him go, you have to let them help him, you can't save him yourself_.' And with a exhale of breath that's a muted cry of acceptance, he lifts his arms from their possessive grip on Dean, allows the two paramedics to pull Dean away from him and lie him on the ground on his stomach as if they know his back's where he's wounded.

The woman paramedic pulls away the bandages even as the male paramedics radios up to the helicopter pilot, confirms that they will need their patient medevac'd out to the nearest trauma unit.

Numbly, Sam thinks, '_But Dean hates flying_.' Eyes transfixed on his brother, he doesn't know he's lost some time, not until the medics are carefully rolling Dean over, lifting him onto a stretcher and securing him at head, waist and legs with the belts. Sam's stomach drops to his feet, remembers being strapped onto a gurney himself…after the Impala accident, being helpless to go to his Dad, to _Dean_, to see for himself that his family wasn't dead. Remembers barely choking back a scream as the first helicopter took off with Dean, without him, leaving him behind to ride in an ambulance, to maybe get to the hospital too late…to even say goodbye to Dean.

Diving forward, Sam almost throws himself onto Dean's chest, has his hand fisted so hard in Dean's jacket that it's white. But he tears his gaze from his brother's pale face, looks up to the male medic and pleads, "I have to go with him."

Chagrin contorts the medic's features even as he denies, "I'm sorry. The helicopter can take only those needing medical attention. It will give the medics on board more room to work on your brother and will lessen the weight of the copter, helps get him to the hospital faster."

Sam knows it's logical, is even a good thing in the long run, but it doesn't make it any less acceptable. Looking down to Dean, he slips his hand to the side of Dean's neck and gives a gentle squeeze as he runs his thumb across Dean's pale cheek. "Please, _please_," and he's not sure if his pleads are for Dean right then or for the medics, but then his eyes come up again to the lance into the medic's brown eyes. "I have to go with him. I can't…I can't leave him, I just can't. _Please_." Because they have to realize, what they are asking of him, its not possible.

He nearly startles when the female medic touches his arm, and he's afraid she'll try to pull him away from Dean. But instead her touch is gentle, slides down his jacket sleeve. "You're hurt too, aren't you?" she asks and it's a strange enough statement to cause Sam to look over his shoulder at her.

Nodding to Sam's arm, the medic continues, "Your arm, it's cut," as if Sam didn't detect the injury before. And she thinks maybe he hasn't when he looks down at his own arm in wonder. And whatever emotion crosses over his features at the sight of the blood staining his sleeve, at the slice in the jacket, at the wound to his arm, it's not what she expects to see. Is relief and the look he bestows on his injured brother is nearly one of affectionate gratitude.

"Yeah, the bear got me there," Sam says, his voice firmer that it has been.

Rising her eyes to her partner, Pam isn't surprised to see relief in Keith's eyes because the man's a bigger softie than she is. "Alright, then you're getting medevac'd out of here with your brother," she announces, watches the man give an audible swallow before nodding his head, forcing himself to withdraw his touch from his brother.

But as they lift the gurney, Sam's right there by his brother's side, has a hand coiled around his brother's forearm even as they head for the small clearing where the helicopter's line dangles, waiting for their patient. Correction: patients.

A few minutes later, when the helicopter has its two passengers stowed away and the two medics watch as it cuts through the air toward the county's closest trauma unit, Keith says, though it's not really a question, "He wasn't going to let us separate him from his brother, was he."

Abandoning her visual tracking of the helicopter, Pam faces her partner and answers with a solemn certainty, "No, he wasn't."

"Helicopter's for life-threatening injuries. Cut on the kid's arm only needed stitched up," Keith points out, but not with a hint of accusation.

Pam's lips press together a moment before she speaks, "You and I …we know the difference between physical trauma and emotional trauma, know that …"

But Keith finishes for her. "One kills but so does the other. It just takes a lot longer," he bitterly concludes, has seen the ravages of grief, of guilt in too many survivors' faces over the years. It doesn't take any deductive reasoning to know the tall guy will not handle his brother's death well, but, if he lost a second of the time he might still have left with him, he would never forgive himself for that.

Forcing a smile onto his lips, he brags to Pam, "I knew us partnering up was kismet," is his way of telling her he backs her decision, is wholly glad they weren't going to be the ones that stole that time away from the brothers.

Pam gives him a look like she sees right through his macho posturing, knows that he was ten seconds away from smearing some of the wounded man's blood on the kid's coat so he could pretend an injury and hop the bird with his brother. But she doesn't blow his cover, instead he does that himself by uttering, "I know things didn't look good for him, but I think he's gonna pull through." And he picks up his pack and starts the long journey back to the ranger's station, wishes for a moment that the 'copter could have provided round trip service. And his wish is all about laziness, hates to hike back to the ranger station then wait for a bird to pick them up, is so NOT about wanting to stay with the two brothers, to see that things turn out ok with them.

Coming to pace Keith, Pam can't help but gently ask, "Is that your professional opinion?" because she knows as well as Keith does that the wounded man's vitals were not encouraging.

Shaking his head, Keith counters, "Nope. Gut instincts. We've both seen people with injuries that shouldn't be life-threatening, slip away, give up. But not this guy, he's a fighter, sustained an injury that could have meant death within a few minutes and he hung on for hours. Hung on because his brother was with him, because his brother wasn't about to give up on him, wouldn't let him quit."

Pam knocks her shoulder into Keith's. "Makes you want to call your own brother, does it?" she teases.

"Not even a little," Keith grumbles back, isn't about to offer Sandy an olive branch again. "Pam, I keep telling you, all brotherhoods aren't alike." Pointing to the sky where the helicopter disappeared from their sight, he explains, "What those two brothers have, it's not your garden variety connection, doesn't just happen, sometimes doesn't happen at all. I know that from first-hand experience. "

"You don't know, maybe they were fighting like cats and dogs all their lives, maybe this adversity brought this closeness out of them," Pam taunts. "Happens sometimes…doesn't mean it will last. Remember that couple that went on a last camping trip before they told their kids they were getting a divorce, they got stranded, were all lovely-dovey when we found them and were throwing punches by the time we got them back to the ranger's station."

"Nope, not happening with those guys," Keith insists.

"And you know this how?" Pam challenges.

Keith stops walking and turns to Pam. "Because I saw his eyes, Ok. It wasn't like he feared what it would be like if he lost his brother, it was like he knew what it would be like. And I…" Keith rubs a hand down his face, "I've never seen that look before, ever."

Then he starts walking again, causes Pam to hustle to gain his side before he finishes, "So yeah, the wounded guy will make it because his brother won't accept anything less from him."

Because yes, he had seen death steal away the strongest and the bravest of souls, but he had also seen the opposite, had seen love do the impossible, defy even the most certain of deaths. And Pam doesn't need to know that he silently sends up a prayer for the two brothers, hopes that love wins the day again.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	14. Chapter 14: Fear is Unbiased

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Well, after a few times rewriting this chapter, here's the next update.

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Chapter 14: Fear is Unbiased

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_Rule # 14: Here, fear is unbiased, dogs every step, hinders each breath, drenches all souls in darkness. _

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For all of his astute powers of observation, Sam doesn't know how long the helicopter ride was, doesn't remember how they made it from the hospital roof down to the trauma unit, doesn't remember much except having to let go of Dean's hand at the ER door. And releasing Dean's hand, it was akin to losing a limb: sharp sense of overwhelming lost, agonizing pain and then, on its heels, frantic denial that it was … _gone_.

So he was left, maimed, torn asunder, reeling, alone, _lost_, right there at the swinging ER doors.

When a nurse took a hands-on approach and led him to the waiting room, he didn't even flinch at the unsolicited physical contact, didn't put up a fight, simply went there numbly, in shock. But instead of claiming a chair, he stood there and looked around the waiting room, at the hospital's four walls, at the place he had wanted to get Dean to so badly all night, the place that was supposed to be a haven. To the one place he hoped could make everything all right, _trusted_ to make it all right, no matter modern medicine's earlier failures with Dean's heart and car accident and Bobby and his Dad. Trusted because it was all he had, all Dean had.

But the hospital, it didn't feel much like a haven, not when no one was telling him the one thing, the only thing he needed to hear: that Dean wasn't going to die. For someone in authority to deny the traitorous thought he couldn't shut out, that, even after everything, after the raging battle Dean had waged to live through the night, Sam was going to lose his brother anyway.

The medics in the helicopter, they hadn't been as coy as the search and rescue team, gave Dean's vitals in blunt terms even a layman would have understood. Severe blood loss. Acute shock. Erratic heart rate. Blood pressure dangerously low. Deep oblique muscle damage. Nicked kidney. In short, dying a little more each second that passed.

And now, Sam's expected to take a seat, to read a discarded magazine from off a nearby table, sit back with a cup of coffee and to do _nothing_, while Dean fights for his life?! That isn't his style, to let Dean fight a battle alone, to not do something for Dean, that Dean would want him to do. '_Go clean yourself up, Sammy'_ he hears in his head, like Dean's hardwired there, with him even when he's cordoned off into another section of the hospital, '_maybe dying_.'

Clamping his eyes shut and fisting his hands, Sam wants to scream, to tell his malicious thoughts to shut up, to block out everything but the sound of Dean's voice, the reassurances Dean would be giving to him if he were there, if he knew Sam was losing control. But he doesn't hear Dean's voice again in his head, can only hear the rushing of blood in his own ears, the muted conversations around the waiting room, the frantic beat of his own heart.

Eyes flying open, he nearly stumbles his first two steps before he regains his equilibrium, has calmed down enough to find the bathroom. But as he reaches for the door handle, he falters, the sight of the blood on his hands stopping him mid-motion. The thought that he might leave Dean's blood behind, it freezes him. But as fate has it, someone comes out of the bathroom just then and he scoots in quickly before the door closes on its own.

Crossing over to the sink, he's never been so glad for automatic faucets and soap dispensers as he is then. With more brutality than care, he scrubs at his shaking hands, at Dean's blood that's stained into the life lines of his palms, under his finger nails, seemingly into his pores. Only stops when he knows he's on the verge of mixing his own blood with Dean's lingering DNA. But when he looks up, sees himself in the mirror for the first time, he nearly throws up.

Dean's blood, he's covered in it. And it's no hell trick this time, no nightmare, is grotesquely real. There's a smear of dark red on his cheek, like war paint in a battle he lost. And his coat, his shirt, his jeans, they all are marred with insidious dark stains, cruelly reminds him not only how much blood Dean has lost but how long Dean's been losing it. '_All night, every second he was in your arms_.'

And as bad as that is, Sam knows that's on the outside, the external damage, but internally, Dean's been bleeding for years. '_Since Purgatory, since Hell, since Dad's death, since Mom's._' And suddenly it's inconceivable that Dean has any blood left to lose, physically or emotionally. How he can still be alive, could _want_ to be alive.

Sam's two seconds away from stripping off his coat, his shirt, wants to bury both away in a trash can, to make it not real, to ignore all the signs, all the clues he's refusing to follow, when Dean's taunting voice stops him, '_Oh, Sammy, I thought I was the only exhibitionist in the family_.' And the knowledge that Dean totally would say that, that he's got Dean ingrained, not only in his soul, but in his mind too, reigns in his insanity, reminds him that, if he throws away the coat and his shirt, he'd be …shirtless. '_Ok, so not the way to go_.'

So after swiping the blood from his cheek, he gives one final sick glance at his reflection in the mirror before he hurriedly pushes out the bathroom doors, dazedly follows the signs indicating public phones are somewhere on the premises. But feels nauseous dread when he finds the bank of phones, sees that no one's around, that he'll have his privacy, knows that there's no more justifiable delays to doing what he has to, what he swore to Dean that he would do once they got back to civilization.

When Garth answers the phone with "You got Garth," Sam finds his mouth's too dry to utter a sound, has to dry swallow three times before he can interrupt Garth's repeated greeting with an embarrassingly tremulous "Hey, Garth it's….Sam," his hesitation making it sound like he's forgotten his own name, had to think about it. And he did, because without Dean…there isn't much of him left. Suddenly, Gabriel's words in his Trickster persona echo through his head: '_Like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without your brother._'

And for all the ways Garth isn't even on the list of people Sam wishes he could be talking to right then, the odd-ball but big hearted hunter senses the edge Sam's on, replies back in a gentle tone. "Whoa, Sam, you alright? You need help?"

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, wants to break down all over again, wants …needs help so badly it hurts. But what he needs from Garth, it isn't about him. "Yeah, there's…there's a Wendigo. I need someone else to finish the hunt and there are….were…." His throat just about closes up on him as he pictures Zeke, Ivan, Vicki, and even Mac. "…four people. I don't know…." '.._the fate I doomed them to._' But a cold inner voice chides him, rips away the luxury of that denial by challenging, '_Don't you_?'

"Sure, sure," Garth readily agrees. "Give me the coordinates and I'll have someone on it pronto."

Relaying the GPS coordinates he and Dean followed to the initial attacks, Sam tells Garth about the trapper cabins…the bodies of the Wendigo's earlier victims.

Garth's voice is careful, like he knows there's a line he shouldn't cross, as he asks, "Pretty specific. You get this lead from another hunter?"

"No, Dean and I…" Sam bites his lip, knows he has to say it, has to practice saying it so he can say it to Dean without a flickering of regret in his tone, will have to prove to Dean that he can live with his decision, can live with a lot of horrible decisions as long as he gets to keep Dean with him. "Dean and I were hunting it and Dean…he got wounded." _Wounded_, it sounded so benign, but all Sam can picture is Dean collapsing and not getting up, Dean's blood pooling on the ground, the sight of the wound exposing bone, Dean delirious and not recognizing him, sheltering his brother's failing body in his arms, terrified that Dean would breathe his last breath there.

Wiping away a traitorous tear, Sam exhales, struggles to shove it all down deep. To Garth's credit, he doesn't push, simply gives him the time to pull himself together. "The four people, they wouldn't….they knew about the Wendigo but they….Last time I saw them, they were tracking it to its lair."

"They hunters too?"

"Scientists," Sam spat with hatred. "Wanted to ….study it, _save it_." '_While they condemned my brother to die_', and some of his guilt over his actions transforms to righteous anger again.

Garth said it best a moment later. "_Save it_?! Man, that's messed up."

Sam's laughter is near hysterical, near sob because he could so hear Dean saying the same thing.

"No worries, I got this, Sam. And Dean, he's going to be OK, right?" Garth asked, his worry for Dean evident in his tone.

'_That's Dean for you, always sneaking his way into the strangest people's hearts_,' Sam thought before he blithely reassured, "Sure, this is Dean we're talking about."

But even Garth isn't buying what he's selling. "If you need me to come be with you, just say the word."

The offer's unexpected and nearly does Sam in. It takes him a few seconds of marshaling his emotions before he hoarsely declines, "Nah, we're ok. But thanks…for everything, Garth. Call me when…" Sam's voice trails off.

Garth doesn't force Sam to complete the sentence that Sam can't, says into the growing stretch of silence, "Yeah, I'll call you when I know the Wendigo's been put down." Wisely, he doesn't make mention of the four civilians that the hunters may find, most likely in pieces.

Not wanting to give Garth the chance to ask anything else, to offer up any more kindnesses that he can't bear, Sam hangs up the phone. Then it's back to the waiting room and he knows he has to take a seat, that there isn't a spell to find, a curse to break, not this time, that the outcome is fully out of his hands, is up to a medical team's skill and his brother's tenacity.

And sitting there, alone, he can only piece together one coherent plea and it plays over and over in his head: 'Please, Dean. _Please_.' Because, when it comes down to it, his faith's still where it's always been, with his bigger than life brother.

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When the doctor comes, Sam barely hears what comes after, "He's survived surgery" has heard it all before.

'_He's fighting very hard, wouldn't have made it this far with the injuries he has if he wasn't.'_

' _Wait for him to wake up…if he wakes up.'_

'_Make him comfortable.'_

But the doctor's "The next few hours, even days are critical and honestly, things could go either way," slices through his haze of bitter memories.

Live or die. It's the nature of their job, of their lives. And Sam has never hated it more, wishes more fervently that they lived normal, safe lives in some suburban town in no-where USA.

"Where's my brother?" is all he can say, all he cares about, believes somehow that he can shut out the ominous part of the doctor's prediction if he can only see Dean, lay hands on Dean and know he's not left him. But seeing, it isn't the reassurance it should be, not with Dean looking so vulnerable in the hospital bed, a monitor silently tracking his heartbeats in the corner. But mercifully, Dean's breathing on his own, doesn't need oxygen manually forced through his lungs to retain his hold on life. And Dean's hand when he holds it in his own, it's not as cold as it was in the helicopter, is warming up, no matter how marginally.

Foregoing the chair in the room, Sam sits on the hospital bed at his brother's knees, can't bear to be far away from Dean, not after spending the night believing that their physical connection was the only thing keeping Dean from slipping away, was the only way he had to reach Dean through his delirium and pain, to prove that he wasn't giving up on Dean, that he wasn't letting go and neither should Dean.

It is the same message Sam wants, needs to send now.

"Hey, it's Sam," he tremulously opens with and when that doesn't evoke a reaction from Dean he strings together more words. "The worst of its over, Dean. You're in a hospital." Gently squeezing the hand in his, he encourages, "Now all you have to do it wake up, 'kay. I know I tortured you all night with my off key singing and my lame stories and …" he runs out of air, has to gulp in a breath but tears fall in the lull and his brother's name tumbles out of him in a broken plea, "Dean."

Reaching up, he lightly settles his hand on Dean's chest. "We made it this far, you can't quit on me, not now, not when we're finally together again, not when I've let down my guard, let you back in knowing…knowing that to lose you again, I won't survive that, won't want to."

Dean doesn't react to his little brother's declaration, isn't talking, isn't moving.

But Dean's breathing, Dean's _fighting _to not leave him, Sam knows that, trusts that. And that's enough right now. It has to be.

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Having begged a hospital pullover shirt from one of Dean's attending nurses, Sam doesn't feel so conspicuous slipping down to the hospital gift shop and buying up every decent entertainment magazine they have on their shelves. Feels a tad embarrassed when he adds a teddy bear to his purchases, but the bear looks like that fabric softener bear, the one in the commercial that Dean hates and Sam is relishing the idea of Dean's reaction when he sees it. And his practical joke purchase, it isn't going to be all in vain because Dean is going to wake up. End of story.

Trying to not seem hurried, he returns to Dean's room in ICU, only releases the breath he doesn't know he is holding when he sees Dean, notes with relief that Dean's breathing, isn't conscious but hasn't worsened in the ten minutes he's been gone.

Reclaiming his chair beside his brother's bed, Sam pulls out the first entertainment magazine and peruses the content for something that might interest Dean. "Good news is, the blond chick you think is hot is going to be in a new show about a cult. Sounds right up your alley. Maybe you can write her a fan letter," he teases, shoots a look to Dean, but the taunt is lost on Dean at the moment. So he flips another page and another. "Sorry to tell you this, Dean, but 'Dr Sexy MD' lost out to 'Grey's Anatomy' in the People's Choice Awards for best drama. The dude from 'Castle' won best dramatic actor..but he wouldn't have been my first choice, not with who he was up against. And even you would have to agree, if he was going to get an award, it should have been for 'Firefly'."

And so goes the afternoon. Sam only leaves his brother's side when the nurses enforce their 'quiet time' rule and banish him to the ICU waiting room. There he reads the Wall Street Journal, paces and generally makes everyone else on edge, as if they weren't on edge already with someone that they love in ICU. It's a miracle he's not escorted from the room. As it is, he pounces out the door the second the two hour quiet time is revoked. Then he's back with Dean, reading to him or just sitting there, talking about lame stuff like who should be the new super hero added to the second Avenger movie and how Bear Grylls should have called "cut", jumped a helicopter and booked a luxury motel room for the night during some of those Man vs. Wild trips.

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Its day three and Sam's trying not to lose hope, the doctor has refused to be either optimistic or pessimistic, thinks he can pacify him with a "we have to wait and see." But Sam's waited and he's not seeing much, not much color back in Dean's face, not a single twitch of Dean's body, not a minuscule flutter of Dean's eyelids, nothing. No indication that Dean's ever coming back to him.

And it's during his lock out from Dean's side when his cell rings, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks "Bobby" before he remembers, Bobby's gone, he's alone. That he's all Dean has. But it is Bobby-wanna be. And its the call he's both been dreading and anxiously waiting for. "Garth, hey, hold on a second," he greets and leaves the waiting room, finds the closest exit to the hospital and hits the door, doesn't want there to be spectators to however he reacts to the news Garth has for him.

Finding himself in a small garden with green plants, brick walkways and wooden benches, he leans against a wall, steels himself for the news to come. "Ok, I can talk now."

"Just got the call. The Wendigo's been put down," Garth announces with a little too much false cheer, like he needs this welcome news to counter what comes next.

It takes longer than it should for Sam to force the one worded question from his raw throat. "Survivors?" Dully, he wonders if he'll even hear Garth's reply over the loud beating of his own tell-tale heart, but he does…and instantly wishes he couldn't.

"Sorry, Sam. There were no survivors," Garth sympathetically conveys, has an inkling of how hard Sam's going to take this, especially if Dean's wounded too badly to console his brother.

"No, but…" Sam stammers, because, as much as he was braced for this outcome, he can't accept it now. "They were bodies there when Dean and I found the cabin…couple of days …some a few weeks old. I mean, if that's the only corpses they found…."

But Garth cuts him off, regret and apology in every word. "Sam…they were fresh kills. My guys think…two …three days old."

Sam's breath deserts him. Closing his eyes, he leans heavier against the wall because the time frame fits. Remembers the rifle shot he heard, how useless bullets were against a Wendigo, how enraged the last Wendigo got when Roy shot at it. Still, he foolishly hangs onto hope, croaks out, "Four…there were four people," because just one survivor, one life not sacrificed for Dean would lessen the guilt, would lessen the guilt he knows Dean will try to bear for a decision that was for him but not his to make. '_Was mine. Was all mine_.'

Instead of confirming or denying Sam's tally, Garth counsels, "Sam, this is not your fault. You said they knew what the Wendigo was, that they snack on humans."

"Did they see four bodies!" bursts out of Sam like a shout, a held back scream, because Garth doesn't understand, he didn't just leave Mac and the others…he sacrificed them, sent them headlong into the Wendigo's lair, used them to distract the Wendigo, to ensure the Wendigo didn't come after Dean again.

"Let it go," Garth orders, sounding as serious as Sam's ever heard him. "Focus on your brother."

"I am!" Sam rails back because it's ludicrous to think his mind's anywhere but on Dean, on how Dean will take this news, of how Dean will see him now, as something cruel, less than human, as a monster, all over again. "What do you think's going to be his first question to me? He'll want to know how many people I killed to save his life, Garth!"

"Sam, that's not…."

"Just tell me, Garth," Sam commands and at Garth's pause his voice turns savage, "Tell me!"

Understanding that Sam will not drop this, has to know the worst of it if he's going to find a way past it, Garth describes the scene the hunters found. "Two had their necks broken."

Fighting down bile, Sam bit out, "What did they look like?"

"Don't do this to yourself," Garth entreats, doesn't want to score more pain on Sam with the details. "We can't save everybody. You saved your brother, right? Most of the hunters get into this life because they failed to save someone that they love, but you didn't fail, Sam."

"Didn't I?" Sam hoarsely challenges because it's not looking like a victory where he stands, not when Dean has yet to wake up, hasn't given any indication that he won't die soon.

Garth reads between the lines. "Wait. Dean's…he's doing good, right?"

Wearily running his hand down his face, Sam exhales, won't have that conversation with Garth. "Describe the bodies, Garth."

Sam's avoidance, it tells Garth more than he wants to know. If Dean's not doing well…it's a miracle Sam's wasting time talking to him, is only doing it for one reason only: to know the fate of the four civilians he had to leave behind in order to save his brother. But it doesn't make it any easier to be the bearer of bad news. "Woman and a guy with military tattoos. Their deaths were quick."

'_Vicki and Ivan_,' Sam grimly identifies, tries to console himself with the knowledge that they suffered a quick death but it doesn't help much. Not when their blood is on his hands. "The other two bodies…" he quietly presses, needs to know all of it.

Garth exhales loudly because the next news is worse than the first. "Not so much bodies as …pieces. CSI would be lucky to make positive IDs but…there were four backpacks …and they found….blond hair."

With a cry of rage, Sam punches the wall, relishes the agony radiating from his hand through his arm, through his body before he collapses against the wall and buries his face in the rough brick. Dead. They were all dead and he had been the one to seal their fate nearly as much as the Wendigo had. '_And you rather it be Dean who's dead?! Because you couldn't do both, save Dean and save them. You couldn't. No one could_.' And he wants to believe that, to know he had done the only thing he could, that this path was the only one that ended with Dean still alive. And for all the times Dean's given him a free pass, no matter what he does, he fears this might break that chain. '_But will he absolve me this time, when the choice I made, the consequences, they were all to save him, only to save him.'_

"Sam, you still there?' came Garth's tentative voice through the cell phone.

"Yeah," Sam gravely acknowledges before he pushes off the wall, stands erect, struggles to balance the weight of guilt on his shoulders.

"I'm not Bobby but I know, if you asked him who you should have saved, your own brother or four strangers who wanted a meet and greet with a Wendigo, I know what he would have said." Then Garth mimics Bobby at his most gruff, "Your brother, idgit."

"Your brother, idgit," Sam says at the same time as Garth, gives a weak, broken chuckle at the certainty they both have of Bobby's answer.

Feeling like he has done all he could, Garth bids, "Well, take care Sam and say hi to Dean for me."

"I will," Sam replies and ends the call, feels both wretched and guiltily relieved to be where he is, to not still be in the woods waiting for Mac and the others to come back to help him get Dean to civilization. To have Dean with him, alive, to be someplace where, if the slightest wrong thing happens with Dean's health, someone's there to do something about it, someone who has a chance of fixing it.

'_But what's Dean going to say when he knows they are all dead, Zeke, Vicki, Ivan and Mac? What's he going to think about his little brother now_? _How is he going to forgive me for doing this for him_?' he despairing wonders before resolve takes over. Dean is just going to have accept that he made the only choice he could live with, that he had to choose him, had to choose his survival over anyone else's. '_Just like Dean's chosen me, my life over others, so many times before.' _

Stepping back into the hospital's interior, he determinedly heads to Dean's room, needs to see his brother, screw quiet hours rules. Sends out a wholly unrepentant apology to his brother on the way._ 'Sorry, Dean, I wouldn't undo what I did, not when it saves you. And if that makes me a monster…fine. But I hope you remember that I learned from you to put family first.' _

And he's almost got himself thinking things are going to be alright…until he gets shoulder checked by a male nurse passing him from behind at a run. But when the nurse turns right into Dean's room, when more medical personnel bolt into the room, all Sam can think is '_Nnnnoooo_!' Because he's been here before, more than once: Dean flatlining, Dean _dying_.

Charging into the room, he doesn't care about procedures, about giving them space, about letting them do their job. Protecting Dean, saving Dean is _his_ job. Always and forever. Roughly pushing aside the male nurse and another female nurse, he gets his first look at Dean. And it's not what he's expecting, is both better and worse.

Dean's not flatlining, he's flaying in the bed.

Horrified, Sam watches as his brother rolls wildly from one side of the bed to the other while his badly shaking hands run up and down his body, over his face, through his hair, before repeating the process, scouring frantically for something that's not there. And though Dean's eyes are open, there's no recognition for his surroundings, only wild savage terror pouring out of them.

When the closest male orderly manages to grab one of Dean's arm, tries to arm wrestle it to the bed, to the restraints waiting, Dean gives a nearly inhuman feeble cry of terrified protest before he lashes out with all the weak strength he has, desperate to free his arm from the man's hold.

_**SNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN**_

They were close to the portal, Dean could sense it, would say his spidey senses were tingling…if he thought for a second either of his companions would get the comic reference, which they wouldn't. Sam would get it but roll his eyes. And the thought of Sam, of maybe being only days away from getting out, of seeing Sam again, it gave him something he had not dared to harbor since he and Cas dropped into Purgatory: genuine hope.

Not just…a 'lukewarm maybe' but a feeling of urgency, like there was finally a goal to reach, a reward for the nightmare cross country trek they had hacked their way through. That the carrot someone had dangled in front of him wasn't just a mirage, another way to screw with him, might be real.

He was imagining the look of surprise on Sam's face when he showed up. '_I'm like some bad penny you can't get rid of, Sammy_' he jovially thought, right before he felt a prick of a pain in his neck.

Even as his hand flew up to swat at the insect, he knew something was wrong. His hand felt heavy, took effort to keep it raised, and his legs felt…wobbly. Then there was the fact that it suddenly was proving hard to swallow.

Before he could process the implications, his legs crumbled under him like someone had severed his spinal cord. Then he was falling and he couldn't break his fall, not when his arms were refusing to move. His impact with the ground was akin to doing a belly flop …on cement, knocked the breath out of him, stunned him. But that didn't account for his total lack of ability to move, any body part, to even friggin' blink his eyes.

So he remained in the graceless heap, legs tangled together, arms crushed under his own weight, cheek pressed into the underbrush. And try as he might to call out for Benny or Cas, to scream, to _moan_, his vocal chords proved as useless as the rest of him. With a string of curses looping over and over in his head, his eyes darted around, tried to locate the fugly that had downed him. But there was nothing in his limited line of sight and that was so not the good news.

'_Calm down, Cas and Benny will catch up to you in a few minutes_,' he coached himself but that resolve went out of the window when movement caught his eye….movement not from above but movement on the ground, _eye level with him_. Heart thudding in his chest, dread cued up to make an appearance because this didn't bode well, he watched as the movement came again, leaves shifting, ground cracking.

Then hundreds of caterpillars broke through the dirt and surged onto the surface. And they all moved in the same direction: toward him.

Though Dean commanded and cursed and pleaded with his body, his limbs to move, they didn't, they couldn't. And his voice was in the small mode of mutiny, wouldn't emit a squeak let alone a bellowing call for help. So he was helpless to do anything other than watch the army of worms determinedly trek across the leaves and downed branches and come his way.

And as ridiculous as he knew it was to be afraid of something small and fury that would morph into a pretty butterfly one day, when the first caterpillar scampered onto his forearm, he would have yelped like a girl if he could have. Instead he watched in horror as caterpillar after caterpillar scampered up his hand and elbow until soon, his entire arm was covered in them. But it wasn't just his arm they were using as a jungle gym. He could feel the tickle of their hairy legs on his ankle, climbing up his shin. While others were just beginning to slither across his chest, march over his shoulder.

When the first one dropped onto his face, he thanked God he had closed his mouth before the full paralysis set in. But as more climbed onto the surface of his face, traveled up his throat, crept over his lips and up his cheek, headed for his eyes, he fervently wished that his eye lids would obey his command to slip shut.

As if things weren't bad enough, the next second he felt a flare of pain in his legs, then his arm, his shoulder, his chest. Apparently his freeloaders weren't content making him their Mt. Everest, were now adding biting to their repertoire, sending even more venom thrumming through his system. Then there was the unending stream of caterpillars still piling out of the ground, still making their way to him, _on him. _

His belief that things could always get worse proved right yet again when suddenly it felt like someone had reached into his gut and was trying to rip his stomach out. He would have screamed if he could have, regardless who and what heard him. Especially when the agony didn't abate but seared up his spine, into his chest, up his neck. And venom he knew, this…this was someone else, something worse. Something he had only experience once before…when he took the vampire cure, when the potion had felt like it was tearing him apart molecule by molecule, changing him, turning him inside out until he didn't know what he would be on the other side.

_Metamorphosis._

And not from something this time but to something. To something that _belonged_ in Purgatory, that would no longer be human. He choked on his next shallow breath as the agony spiked higher deep within his organs, his muscles. And he knew his chance was slipping away, to get out of Purgatory, to see Sam. The portal, it was meant only for a human to pass through. And what he would soon be…wasn't going to be that.

Suddenly, he knew if he was down to his last feeble breath, if he could call out one name, it wouldn't be the name of an angel or a vampire. It would be the name of the person he always ached to have at his side when the worst fate seemed inevitable. '_Sam_!'

_**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN**_

Done using kid gloves with his patient who, for a guy who just snapped out of a coma, is managing to surprisingly land some decent blows, the orderly practically tackles Dean to the bed, leans over him and roughly pins his hands over his head. Dean violently bucks against the weight pressing down on him, struggles to get his hands free of the orderly's bruising grip, tosses his head left and right on the pillow. But he's too weak to override the orderly's brute strength.

Paralyzed by fear, by despair, Sam doesn't move, can't move, stands immobile while Dean comes apart. Fighting down a sob even as he's in denial, because this isn't Dean, Dean's all about control, about a brave front, about shutting down his emotions, not about frantic panic, terror.

And what's worse is, it's not him at Dean's side, holding Dean hard and close, breaking his brother's personal space barrier that applies to everyone but Sam. That the orderly's ordering others to put the restraints on Dean's wrist, to bind his brother, to bind Dean…who spent thirty years bound to a rack in Hell.

It's all wrong, wrong, wrong! And still Sam doesn't move, knows instantly what's holding him back: the fear of failure. That the medical team can help Dean better then he can, that he can't bring Dean back from wherever nightmare he's in, that he'll _hurt_ Dean, worse than he already is.

But then he remembers everything Dean's gotten him through: Being without a mom, living with Dad, losing Jess, discovering his soul's tainted, missing his soul, his broken, Hell ravaged mind. And not once did Dean quit on him, stand back and _hope_ someone else stepped in to fix him. No, Dean fixed him, each and every time. No matter how impossible it seemed or how unworthy he was, Dean fixed him…fixed things for him, made him ok.

And now it is on him to fix Dean, to be there…not because Dean is letting him but because Dean needs him to. Because, for the first time, Dean is too broken for facades, doesn't know where he is or even who he is with, is wholly vulnerable.

'_And I'm standing here letting some stranger brutalize him!_' Sam bitterly recognizes even as he surges forward, pushing aside anyone that stands in his path to reach his brother.

When Dean hoarsely calls out "Sam!" in his vulnerability and panic, it's the most wretched sound Sam's ever heard, breaks him in ways nothing has yet. Because Dean isn't coherent enough to know he's there but he's calling for him all the same. '_And I'm right here, could have been with him from the start of all this, if I hadn't let fear rule me!'_

Suddenly something snaps in Sam, something just as frantic, just as savage as Dean's emotions and he roars, "Stay away from him!" before he roughly shoves the orderly back, brutally breaks the man's ruthless grip on Dean. Then he's the one leaning over Dean. But instead of trying to capture Dean's hands, stop his brother's defensive blows, Sam slips his arms around Dean, enfolds Dean in a hug, not a cage. Practically in the bed with Dean, Sam pulls Dean gently up to lean against him, pinning Dean's flinging arms between them and cradling Dean's neck with his hand. "Sh…sh… I'm here, Dean. It's Sam. You're ok," he quietly entreats by Dean's ear, his brother's too hot forehead pressing into his cheek. "You're not there anymore, you're with me, Dean. It's not real, whatever you're seeing, its not real. Sh…Sh…calm down, I gotcha."

The fevered, wounded body in his arms slowly stills but Sam doesn't pull back, can't, because letting go…isn't something he can do. But he gentles his hold, erases the lingering edge of command in his tone, "That's it, deep breaths. We're ok, we're out of the woods, Dean." Praying that his statement's true, literally and metaphorically.

"Sam…my," tentatively comes up from within the confines of his arms and it's the sweetest sound, almost eclipses the horrible memory of Dean's other heartbreaking call for him.

His system overflowing with relief, love for his brother, for the stupid nickname, Sam gives Dean a gentle squeeze, acknowledges with a voice that's raspy and trembling, "Yeah, it's Sammy." Then he eases Dean's frail frame back onto the bed, slipping his hand from behind Dean's neck only after he's carefully settled Dean's head onto the pillow. But Sam doesn't go far, compensates for Dean's new position by leaning close and meets his brother's feverish gaze. "You know where you are now?" he gently prods, needs to know Dean's not still lost in Purgatory.

Dean is actually holding his gaze, says confidently, if weakly, "With you."

Something half between a laugh and a sob slips out of Sam. Cupping Dean's face with his hand, he gives his brother a watery smile. "Yeah, yeah you are."

And it's not alarming when Dean's eyes flutter closed a few seconds later. Voluntarily, Sam pulls his touch free of Dean and steps back from the bed so the medic team can assess his brother's condition, even though he doesn't need to hear their results. He knows that Dean is with him now and his brother isn't going anywhere.

But Sam refuses to budge from Dean's side from there on out, trails his brother's wheeling bed to any and all testing areas then dutifully follows in his brother's wake back to his room, calmly but inflexibly refuses to be banished from the room during quiet time, is a fixture in the room, at Dean's side. Because Dean has done his part, he's not left him. Now Sam knows its his time to return the favor, to not leave Dean. To show Dean, to _prove_ to Dean that there is nowhere else he would rather be than with him.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Tbc

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Thanks for reading and for the generous souls who give me such wonderful words of encouragement on last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	15. Chapter 15: Ways To Stay Alive

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! I just wasn't pleased with the chapter I wrote and ended up doing an overhaul of it and breaking it down into smaller sections. Hope this part is enough to keep you hanging on for the final chapters of this story. Also, there be caterpillars ahead!

SNSNSNSN

Chapter 15: Ways To Stay Alive

SNSNSNSN

_Rule # 15: There are no good fates here, but there are worse ways to stay alive._

_**SNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN**_

He was panicking, Dean knew that. And Winchesters did NOT panic. (Or, at least, they never _admitted_ to panicking.) And screaming in his head for Sam, that was panicking on a grand scale.

'_Stop being a girl!_ _Get your crap together_!' he commanded of himself but shutting out the agony of transformation, that was the easy part. Ignoring the feel of each and every caterpillar as it claimed him as its home base, that gave a whole new twisted meaning to 'making your skin crawl.' Worse still, there wasn't a thing he could do about it, couldn't even blink when the first worm brushed by his eyelash, slithered by his nose. Couldn't muscle his way out of this, couldn't think his way out, couldn't scream his way out. That left….nothing, nada, him sporting wings and an antennae.

And even if Cas and Benny found him soon, it might be only in time to kill him to save him. Course that was if his traveling buddies even bothered to show up.

'_Where are they?! Off making friggin' friendship bracelets for each other?!_' he bitterly snarled to himself, because he had noticed the decreasing hostility between the angel and the vampire. And that should be the good news, he knew that, and it was stupid that he sort of missed being their referee. But it didn't take a genius to know why, because he had been there before. Played that role before, between Sam and his Dad, and as horrible as watching them fight had been, it seemed like the only time they noticed _him_ was when he stepped in to break them up.

'_Great, you're going to be a butterfly with self-image issues_,' Dean groused before his insides contorted again and the newest wave of agony made thinking impossible.

SNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN

Having let Dean take the lead in their little entourage, Cas purposely dropped back to pace Benny. When the vampire instantly shot him a wary glance, he knew that he had not yet mastered the art of subtlety. Fighting down the human trait of sighing, he steadily met Benny's gaze, noted that there was a marginal decrease in the vampire's usual animosity. Had been ever since the Leviathan attack, since Benny started to understand that not all monsters were created equal, not even in Purgatory, that what he had done, leaving Dean, it hadn't been about not caring about Dean…but the opposite: that he cared too much.

However, right then, Cas would have welcomed Benny's hostility, for the vampire's empathy only heaped more coals on his head for what he was about to confess, to request. Looking away from Benny to the bend in the trail ahead that Dean had disappeared around, he declared, "You are right."

Though Benny knew the angel had something up his wings, he still hadn't expected the out of the blue admission. It caused him to shoot a dubious look at Cas to confirm he had heard the angel right. Course that gesture turned out to be a wasted one, what with Cas avoiding his eye contact like he was Sodom and Gomorra. Too curious to give the angel the silent treatment, Benny drawled, "Not like I turn down compliments, but what exactly what was I right about?" When Cas' jaw clenched, gave a telltale sign of the angel's emotional distress, Benny nostalgically wished for the days when he thought Cas was a cowardly, heartless, blasphemous version of the holy angels his grandmother used to tell him about at bedtime.

Coming to a halt, Cas faced Benny, was still debating the merit of his decision to tell the vampire his plans even as he lowly announced, "It is not my intention to go through the portal."

Benny didn't even bother trying to pretend shock, instead shook his head in disgust. "Like I said, you haven't made that much of a secret."

Brow creased in puzzlement at Benny's reply, the angel began to question, "But Dean…."

"…Is too gong ho to get you …get us all out of here to see anything else. So what, you like it here, angel?" Benny derisively taunted, his anger building, not because he cared if the angel made Purgatory his final resting place but because Dean would care. Wouldn't take the news well that his angel buddy wasn't interested in making the journey topside with him.

"No," Cas sharply denied but couldn't hold the vampire's gaze. "But it is what I deserve," he morosely muttered under his breath.

Irritated that the angel was throwing himself a pity party, Benny grabbed onto the lapels of Cas' coat and spun the angel around to face him. "Nah, uh. You don't get to make this about you, about some punishment you think you deserve. Dean's busting his hump to get you to the portal…will throw your butt through it if he has to. What he deserves is to not have risked everything just so you could bail on him again."

"I'm not abandoning him!" Cas growled back even as he broke Benny's hold on him. But the vampire didn't let him retreat, instead stepped up be toe to toe with him.

"He fought his way across Purgatory to find your worthless angel hide, and I was never sure if he thought you needed rescuing or you would rescue him. Even when he knew there was a way out for him, he wouldn't stop until we found you. And now you want to stay _here_?!" Benny snarled, couldn't believe the angel was speaking up now, when the portal was so close, when Dean's hopes were so high for all of them to get out.

Cas' heart twisted at Benny's words, knew that Dean's nightly prayers to him had been both: both Dean pledging to save him and Dean appealing to Cas to save him. Because, somehow, Dean had believed that they were better, stronger together. Still did. But Cas didn't have that much faith in himself. Had told Dean he was cursed and that was even truer here. "This is best…." he started to explain but Benny cut him off.

"Don't tell me what's best!" Benny nearly shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Cas before he realized he was teetering on the edge of his control. Understanding that it had more to do with his conversation with Dean than the present one, he stepped back, put a safe distance between he and Cas. Running a hand over his face, he marshaled his emotions back into the crypt like a good vampire should.

Sensing something was troubling Benny, Cas did not defend himself but decided to wait the man out, knew humans had a habit of talking if you gave them the chance. Well, some did. Dean wasn't always so forthcoming with his thoughts and certainly not with his emotions. Only Sam really got him to open up.

Not for the first time, Cas wished Sam was there, not only because he could get through Dean's emotional wall but also because Sam had a better track record of keeping Dean safe than he did. And here, like in the real world, Dean was a magnet for trouble and needed all the protectors he could get. '_Exactly why I'm about to make my request of Benny, regardless of how poorly the vampire thinks of me and my decision.'_

Since quietly waiting wasn't having the desired effect on the vampire, Cas stated, "You are upset."

Benny snorted and sent the angel a glare. "You have a flare for stating the obvious, I'll give you that." But the angel didn't make a comeback, leveled that annoyingly blank look at him that was like Chinese water torture. "If you're expecting me to spill my guts, make you my high school guidance counselor, you're gonna have a long wait."

Tilting his head in confusion, Cas asked, "Why would I be your high school…."

"If I didn't know better, I would say you're messing with me," Benny wryly interjected, turning his back on the angel, hoping to signify the end of the conversation. That's when it dawned on him that Dean wasn't in his line of sight, hadn't come stomping back yelling at them like a drill sergeant for not keeping up. Suddenly, cold fear gripped Benny. "Where's Dean?" he stridently demanded even as he chastised himself. '_Sure spend time chewing out Cas for __thinking__ about abandoning Dean and you don't even know where Dean is right now_?!'

Instantly Cas was by his shoulder, urgently scanning the same vacant landscape of Purgatory that he was. When they both came up empty, they shared a worried look before they took off at a run. Barreling around the bend in the path, Benny almost tripped over a moss covered downed limb, deftly dodging by it at the last second. But Cas' anxious cry of Dean's name had him sliding to a stop and turning around in time to see the angel drop to his knees by the downed limb and begin to frantically brush away the moss.

That's when Benny realized that the moss, it was moving. Were caterpillars, hundreds, thousands of them. And the downed limb…it was wearing boots…just like Dean's. He screamed at himself to move, to help Dean, but another detached part of him was too afraid to draw close and find out that his friend was gone.

"Dean!" Cas shouted his friend's name like a command, needed Dean to respond to him for his own peace of mind because through he knew his friend lived, there was no other signs of encouragement.

Cas' shout snapped Dean from the void he had almost succumbed to, told him that he wasn't alone anymore, gave him a kernel of hope that this wasn't his last hooray after all. But when hands touched his _**legs**_ and started to shove the caterpillars off him, his gratitude dipped. '_Face, Cas! Forget my legs! Get them off my friggin' face_!'

Then, like an answer to prayer, a hand appeared in his limited vision for a moment before it fell to his face, began swiping away the caterpillar horde from his eyes, off his cheeks and his nose and from his forehead and neck. And he was never so glad to hear a southern twang then he was then.

"We gotcha, Dean. We're getting 'em all off you, I swear," Benny vowed from his kneeled position by his friend's head. But he couldn't help internally cringing at the present situation his friend was in, felt a return of that nearly overwhelming fear that had kept him motionless for far too long before he broke free, sank to the ground by his friend's side when Dean only numbly watched him, didn't move…at all. It made his motions a little rougher as he ran his hands through Dean's hair to dislodge the insects.

Startled, he cursed as one of the caterpillars bit his hand. Slapping it into mush, he fling its remains off his hand and started brushing the critters from Dean's shoulders.

Having cleared Dean's legs of the majority of the caterpillars, Cas crawled forward, began to remove the mass covering Dean's torso. But all of a sudden, he stilled and his eyes flew up to Dean's. Because under his hand he could feel it: Dean's agony.

Silently Dean screamed as his guts twisted, seemingly tore and broke into pieces. And he didn't care about the advantages of "_floating like a butterfly, stinging like a bee_," he so did not want to become a mothman.

Without warning Benny of his intended actions, Cas grabbed Dean's limp arm and pulled his friend off the ground and over his shoulder. Then he hurriedly started to carry Dean away from the ground zero of the caterpillar hive. Didn't know what was happening with Dean but knew the less contact the man had with the insects, the better.

Benny surged to his feet, followed in Cas' wake, cursed as another small spike of pain erupted from his arm and he brushed another caterpillar free of his flesh. But his next step was a stumble and suddenly he knew. His mouth not working like it should, he slurred out, "Cas! Venom!" before his legs crumbled underneath him, sent him crashing onto the ground. But he caught himself, still had feeling in his arms, for the moment.

Spinning around at Benny's words, Cas watched as the vampire collapsed to the ground. Making a quick determination that they had made it far enough away from the caterpillar horde, he carefully lowered his best friend's limp body to the ground, hated that Dean didn't say a word, stayed exactly in the position he placed him in. Reaching down, he carefully grabbed Dean's chin and turned his friend's face toward him. What he found in Dean's eyes was agony, fear and a scream for help. His help.

But even as he was about to promise Dean he would be alright, that he would make it alright, he noticed the discoloration on Dean's cheek. Tentatively, he skimmed his fingers over the patch of skin and his eyes shot to Dean's in fear, because what was under his fingers, it was not solely human flesh anymore. Holding Dean's gaze, he sought out the advice of the one person who had a tendency to turn an impossible situation into a victory. "Your skin, it's changing, Dean. I think the insects have transforming properties."

'_You think, Cas?!_' Dean sarcastically drawled internally before another transformation episode turned everything into white hot agony.

Practically able to _feel_ Dean's agony, Cas cursed himself for being without the ability to heal. Could only place a hand on Dean's chest and slip his other hand down to the junction between Dean's shoulder and neck to offer Dean the comfort of his presence as his friend rode out another wave of pain. "Dean, I don't…what should I do?" he implored, because he understood nature, but this, this wasn't part of God's plan, none of it was.

For Dean there were only two viable options left. '_Either save me or kill me_,' he conveyed to Cas with his eyes, because he already felt less than human in his soul, didn't need his body following suit. He would choose death over becoming some monster, even when death there in Purgatory might be the end of the line.

From his stooped position on the ground a few feet from Dean, Benny wheezed out, "Kill 'em," his eyes rising up to clash with Cas'.

'_Whoa, hey! I meant try and save me __first__ and if you can't…then off me_,' Dean silently protested, knew that Benny would get that he wouldn't want to be some emasculated butterfly man but thought his friend would give it the old vampire try to save him first.

Realizing that Cas was not comprehending his advice, Benny hung his head down a moment, could practically feel his vampirian cells fighting against the toxins of the caterpillars, the transformation they thought they wanted dibs on. Rising his head with effort, he enunciated like Cas didn't get English, "Bugs…kill 'em…**all**."

Understanding Benny's theory, Cas looked down to Dean, sickly noted that his friend was still heavily covered in caterpillars, probably had a number of worms _under_ his clothing as well. Then his eyes darted back to the path, to where thousands of other caterpillars slithered, under leaves, up tree trunks, under the ground. His throat tightened as he brokenly admitted, "There is no way I can be sure of killing them all."

His arms losing their strength, Benny's chin and chest ruthlessly impacted with the ground, had him growling in frustrated pain. But he still had the ability to move his head, to seek out Dean's prone form and Cas' anxious features. "Cas, find a way! I think I can fight the change.…Dean can't." And his eyes both demanded and implored the angel to do something to save Dean.

Hanging his head, Cas stammered, "I…I don't …" as his fingers gripped desperately onto Dean's jacket. He despised himself for being powerless when Dean's life…very soul was at stake, thought Dean would hate him for his weakness. But when he gathered his courage and met his friend's pained gaze, he saw Dean's acceptance of his fate but also…faith. '_Faith in me, that I'll finally do the right thing_,' Cas soberly realized and it was a great weight to bear, to save Dean all on his own.

Grimly, Cas knew that he had only one move to make, one angelic power to utilize, knew that the possible outcome could be the loss of Dean's life, or worse, if dying in Purgatory caused a soul to cease to exist. But looking into Dean's eyes, he knew what his friend's choice was. That Dean Winchester would rather die a man than live as a monster. But it wasn't that clear cut of a choice for Cas. For he would accept Dean in whatever form he came in, understood why Dean could not, would not kill Sam when heaven dictated it, would rather die with his brother than give up on him. Because some bonds were more important than anything else.

So Cas leaned over Dean, steadily held his friend's gaze and hoarsely warned, "This will be unpleasant for you but it might work." Immediately, he saw relief and gratitude spring into Dean's eyes, gratitude for whatever he would do next, for whatever he deemed right. And he saw something else that outshined the rest: _Trust. _Though he knew he was unworthy of it, Dean trusted him. Still. Even after all the times he had failed him, betrayed him.

Cas prayed that Dean's trust in him wasn't in vain.

"Benny, close your eyes," he ordered even as he placed his own hand over Dean's eyes. Then he placed his other hand on the forest floor and sent a minuscule surge of his grace rippling into the ground. White light arched from his hand across the forest floor, underneath Dean and Benny and to the caterpillar horde and up the trees, turned the whole area into a flash of white luminous lightening.

And amidst that blanket of radiance, Benny gave a raw scream of unimaginable agony, a scream that echoed throughout the forest. But Dean's ravaging soundless scream, only Cas heard.

_**SNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN**_

First, there is a nothingness, then, from one second to the next, there is consuming agony. Agony he needs to escape from. But even as his eyes fly open, as his body lurches upright, the pain doesn't abate but spikes higher. And what would have been a bellow of pain, tumbles out of his lips as a contorted cry and he feels himself falling backwards.

But hands catch him, stop his descent back into the black void he just emerged from. And there's a voice, a voice he knows, wants, _needs_ to hear, even if the words are muffled, incomprehensible to him right then. And as a hand slips up his back to the base of his neck, supports his too heavy head, his eyes start to focus, let him see that it's not just wishful thinking on his part, that Sam's there, Sam's got him.

A decidedly freaked out Sam, whose words are starting to make sense.

"Take a breath, Dean. Take a breath!"

And Dean does, for Sam, because any disobeyed order from Sam would be harped on, forever. But it's painful, the breathing thing, ignites a new level of pain through his chest now, like his lungs have forgotten that is a function they are supposed to perform without prodding. And a cough sputters out next instead of a clean exhale, wracks his body in the process. It makes slipping back into the void an enticing proposition.

Detecting the fluttering of his brother's eyes, knowing what it signifies, Sam possessively tightens his hold on his brother and implores, "No, no, no. Keep your eyes open, Dean. Stay awake…just for a little while." Because he's unwilling to let Dean slip under the void again, not before he gets to talk to Dean, to make sure Dean knows where he is, that he is still with him. But even more selfishly, he needs to connect with Dean, to be reassured all over again that Dean's there with him.

Dean's eyes blink a few more seconds but do not close, remain open and settle on Sam.

"Dean?" Sam tentatively beckons, has been here a few times today, thinking Dean would finally wake up, has been disappointed all the times prior.

Dean swallows and it's painful, his mouth as dry as it is. But still his lips form his brother's name, croak out a sound that's "Sam", at least in his head it is.

By the blinding smile being bestowed on him, he got it right.

"Yeah," then Sam realizes he's still got Dean captured in his arms, hasn't settled his brother's just-put-back-together body back onto the bed, does so now with infinite care, though he doesn't miss Dean's sharp intake of air and the tension zinging through his brother's frame when he moves him. And he knows he should be calling for the nurse, letting them examine Dean, give Dean morphine to push away the agony. But he doesn't want to share Dean, not yet.

"Thirs..ty," Dean rasps and Sam slips his hand from behind Dean's head and snags the plastic cup with ice, knows the routine well, too well.

"Its ice," he cautions as he tips the cup against Dean's lips until a mini iceberg slips into Dean's mouth, then he puts the cup back onto the tray.

Dean's eyes close in bliss and he mumbles around the ice, "Thanks."

And Dean's gratitude for something as simple as ice has Sam's heart clenching. Taking a careful seat on the bed by Dean's waist, he contents himself with watching Dean's every facial reaction. "Thought you weren't going to come back to me this time," slips out before he knows he's even thinking those thoughts. But he doesn't retract them, can't, not when they are the truth. What's been plaguing him for days.

Dean's eyes open, hold his and Sam knows that he's doing a poor job of covering up how close he is to the edge of his fortitude, that there's tears welling in his eyes, that Dean shouldn't have to deal with his tremulous hold over his emotions. But in the same moment, he realizes that Dean needs to know he feels, _how_ he feels, how he feels about him, because keeping everything locked down since Dean's return, it had nearly destroyed everything he held dear.

Dean pulls a small smile out of his meager reserve of strength, says as his eyes hold Sam's, "Like a bad penny… I keep coming back."

With a closed mouth tremulous smile, Sam nods even as a tear breaks free and splashes down his face. But then his strong façade crumples and he bends over and catches Dean in a cautious but desperate hug, his chin resting on Dean's shoulder. And not taking in a breath is the only way he can hold back the sobs that are lodged in his throat. Because for nearly a _week,_ the very real possibility hung over him that he would lose Dean again at any given moment, that his brother would be taken away from him and he couldn't do a thing to stop it. And yes, he had lost Dean before, but this time, he knew it was coming, it wasn't quick, just some explosion of Dick and Dean was gone, wasn't some ferocious attack by hell hounds or the hundreds of ways Gabriel had killed Dean on those Tuesdays. No, this had been infinitely slow, _real_, gave him time to drown second by second in his rising terror, for the frigid grip of grief to start to stake its claim over him, to think of a millions things he wanted to tell his brother and never had, to be consumed by aching regret at the myriad of ways he had hurt Dean since his brother's return from Purgatory. And all that is threatening to burst out of him now, like a tsunami no floodgate would have a chance of holding back.

Even barely awake, doped up on pain meds and not sure how he ended up where he is, Dean senses that Sam's barely keeping it together, is two seconds away from falling apart, that the arms holding him are trembling and Sam's not taken a breath in nearly a full minute. That his brother may be the one holding him but Sam's drawing strength from their physical connection, needs him to tell him everything's ok now.

Overriding his body's protests, Dean slips his arms protectively around Sam, ignores his throat's complaint as he soothes, "Hey, I'm alright, Sammy. I'm here and I'm alright." For a moment, Sam's arm cinches tighter around him and then loosens but doesn't release its possessive grip. And Sam's now inhaling and exhaling shaky but measured breaths by his ear. Tenderly, he squeezes the back of Sam's neck and the last of his brother's tautness ebbs away, feels his baby brother relax in his arm.

For a long moment, neither brother says anything, simply hangs on to each other.

It's Sam who pulls back first, realizes that he's practically laying on top of his wounded brother. "I'm sorry, I didn't hurt you, did I?" he worriedly asks, even as his hands still have a loose hold on Dean's arm and the front of his brother's hospital gown.

"_You_, hurt _me_?! Come on," Dean jeers and knows his effort is worth it when Sam glares down at him. Suddenly knows too that, everything he did to survive Purgatory and get out, it was about this moment, about Sam piercing him with that embarrassingly, heartrending look of unreserved fondness that he's leveling at him now and the goofy content smile that he's presently sporting, '_like his world's better because I'm in it.' _But Sam had that wrong._ 'It's my world's that's better_, _Sammy_,' Dean silently corrects, hopes one day to tell Sam that …when he can coherently string more than two words together.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading and for continuing to be so generous in your reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	16. Chapter 16: Mistakes That Matter

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

Author's Note: Sorry, no Purgatory flashback this chapter.

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Chapter 16: Mistakes that Matter

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_Rule # 16: There are only three mistakes that matter: #1 - Missing a kill , #2 - traveling alone, #3…well dead men no longer make mistakes. _

SNSSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS

After napping a few hours, Dean wakes up to find things haven't changed much since he shut his eyes. Sam is still sitting in the same chair at his side that he was before, but instead of looking at him like he's afraid he'll disappear if he closes his eyes, Sam is slouched down, his head tilted to the right and resting at an awkward angle against the back of the chair and totally dead to the world.

Dean doesn't wake him, because, seriously, Sam looks like crap. There are dark smudges of fatigue under his brother's eyes, Sam's borrowed hospital shirt is all wrinkled and there's blood crusting the knuckles of his right hand that dangles from the armrest. And it hurts him, seeing Sam so…. '…_wrecked, so __concerned__ about you? Isn't that what you've been whining about since day one out of Purgatory, that he didn't care?! Does he look like someone who doesn't give a crap about you, huh?'_

Sam nearly breaking down, hugging him so tightly, it finally got through to him, that he could accuse Sam of a lot of things, but not caring about him, not loving him…should have never made that list. Ever. That he was an idiot to take Sam wanting a safe life the same thing as Sam saying he wanted a separate life from him. Sam is a dreamer, he sometimes forgets that. That Sam thought he could have it all, the white picket fence, wife and 2.5 kids and his hunting brother in his life. '_Yeah, like you didn't give that a shot with Lisa and Ben when Sam came back. Thought you could have it both ways._' But he bleakly remembers how that ended: badly. Just like all the other times he thought he was actually going to get what he wanted out of life, had some small hope that things would be OK.

But the heartbreak of losing Lisa and Ben, of giving them up, wiping him from their memories, it didn't break him and the reason why…is sitting in a chair by his bed right now. Because he had Sam, because he had lost his adopted family but he had gotten his true family back. And now he accepts, for the first time, that it just might be the same way for Sam, that that is the same reason Sam decided to leave Amelia and stay with him, because they are family and no matter how crappy life gets, that doesn't change, doesn't become less important, less treasured.

Is something worth dying for.

'_And killing for_…' Because Dean is hazy on a lot to things but leaving Mac and his group behind, that he remembers, just like he remembered Reverend Le Grange picking him to be the one he healed instead of Layla, like he remembered that Marshall Hall died in his place, like he would never forget that his father had bartered away his life and his _soul_ so he could live. All those deaths lay at his feet, and now Mac, Ivan, Vicki and Zeke are most likely added to that tally. And he isn't worth the least of them, he knows that…even if Sam doesn't.

But he can't, won't condemn Sam his choice.

After all, he had made his own such choice, more than once. Had bartered with Death for Sam and Adam's release from Hell but, in the end, he had cold-heartedly left his half-brother in Hell, in the friggin' Cage. He had chosen Sam to save without a flickering of doubt, had sentenced Adam to his eternal fate with such infinitesimal traces of guilt that it was sadistic. But for him, there was no choice. It was Sam, is always going to be Sam.

"Hey, you're awake," Sam sleepily proclaims, shifting upward in the chair and rubbing his eyes like he's seven years old again.

"I think that's my line," Dean huskily counters with a smirk, silently watches as Sam brushes aside his own fatigue and leans forward, eyes intently studying him, like he's going to change into something. But a moment later, he cringes, remembers Purgatory, the memory that jarred him out of his sleep that morning like a mental cattle prod.

Of course, Sam doesn't miss his wince, is instantly on his feet, at his side, giving him that wide eyed worried look that Dean feels wholly undeserving of receiving.

"Dean, are you in a lot of pain, should I call a nurse..the doctor?" the words coming out of Sam in a rush, fearful that Dean's about to pull the rug out from under him and make a turn for the worse. Because the truth is, Dean might be awake, but his color's still crap, he's not offered up one protest for his accommodations, or one boast about how fine he is, has barely moved unless someone moved him.

Blocking out raw memories of feeling his own body metamorphosing, Dean croaks out, "No," because he doesn't want strangers with him right then, has exactly who he wants at his side. Has come to trust that Sam won't be disgusted by his weakness, will instead go all Costner Bodyguard protective on him. And right now, with how friggin' weak he is, with how vulnerable he feels, how torn he is between the here and now and Purgatory memories that rip through his head without his permission, it feels like he'll never get a handle on anything again, won't get control back, won't ever get back to being the guy Sam trusted to have his back, could trust to have his back.

And that's down right terrifying to Dean: To lose his place with Sam, _beside_ Sam.

Sam almost misses it, the unguarded look in Dean's eyes that he catches before his brother's looking at anything but him. But he doesn't miss it, sees what Dean rarely shows, even to him: Uncertainty, weakness, fear. And like always, seeing those things in his big brother, it twists Sam's heart, makes him forget he's the little brother, because all he wants to do it protect Dean, salt and burn whatever Dean's afraid of. With a vengeance.

"'kay, I won't call anyone," Sam assures before he claims a seat on the bed by his brother's knees and draws one bent leg up to rest on the mattress so he can face Dean better. "Want something to drink or the bed adjusted or…."

"..My pillows fluffed," Dean smartmouthed, trying for a smirk and hoping he makes it. Sam's too gentle, openly affectionate smirk tells him he is only partially successful, that he must look as pathetic as he feels. To counter that, he offers up a resigned sigh, allows, "Fine, raise the bed a bit," like he's doing Sam a favor.

Utilizing one of the controls on the bed railing, Sam adjusts the bed up for Dean, but only a little. When Dean tries to shift himself up with hands and arms too weak to lift his own body weight, Sam jumps in to help, slips his hands under Dean's armpits and pulls Dean up the mattress.

And though Dean grimaces in pain at the movement, he unleashes a scowl of '_Sam, I'm not friggin' four'_ at his brother for the babying. To which, Sam friggin' laughs.

It's a good release this time, Sam's laughter, his joy at seeing Dean's trademark scowl. Upping the ante, Sam actually fluffs Dean's pillows and chuckles at the rising heat of his brother's glare.

"If you're angling for a tip, there better be a beer in my near future," Dean grouses as Sam resumes his seat by his legs.

Sam snorts. "You tip?! Rrrriiiight. You hardly tip at all unless the waitress is a good looking woman who flirts with you."

"I consider all that a part of the good service package," Dean boasts back, his eyebrows giving a suggestive bounce.

"I bet," Sam retorts, but his tone is fond, lacks his usual reprimand for his brother's lascivious ways. But too soon his eyes go serious as they hold Dean's gaze. "How are you doing?" When he sees a spark in his brother's eyes, he quietly clarifies, "The truth, Dean."

Sobering, Dean swallows, knows Sam isn't looking for him to sell the happy party line but isn't sure Sam's up for the truth and nothing but the truth. He settles midway between the two with a statement of fact. "I'm alive." Seeing the tangle of emotions in Sam's eyes, hurt, fear, relief, he solemnly praises, "Thanks to you." Because he doesn't remember much but what he does remember is Sam, Sam grounding him when the agony wanted to take over, Sam carrying him when his body betrayed him, Sam there with him when his death seemed inevitable, a foregone conclusion.

But instead of his usual humble, '_Don't mention it_,' Sam says nothing, drops his eyes from him, concentrates on pulling on the thread of his ripped jean's holey knee. But Sam's expression, it's like a scream, like a shout, tells Dean what Sam can't say, won't say: that Mac and the others didn't make it. And Sam, he isn't taking the news well, is heaping all the guilt on his own head. Sam's utterly wrong belief that he's at fault gives Dean the strength to lift his hand, move it to cover Sam's jittery hands, stilling them.

Sam's eyes fly up to Dean at the physical contact.

"Sam, I know you didn't have a choice," Dean starts, hates that Sam's eyes dart away from him again in guilty retreat and his hands slip from under his. It causes Dean's self-disgust to burn brighter. "That's on me, Sam. Not you. If I hadn't screwed up….."

Dean's statement is absurd enough to get Sam's head snapping up to his brother. "You screw up?! How, Dean?!" he demands emphatically, hyped to defend Dean but can't when he doesn't even know how his brother can possibly assign himself blame.

"I shouldn't have let my guard down," Dean bitterly snaps, couldn't believe he had been so _careless_. The only good news is that Sam didn't pay the price for his incompetence.

"Let your guard down…" Sam repeats in confusion before he makes the leap of logic. Dean logic, that is. He nearly sighs, tones down his voice from indignation to an unfathomably gentle degree of reproof, as he says, "Dean, how could you …how could we know there were two Wendigoes. There's no evidence to support that they pair up."

But Dean's eyes blaze with defiance. "There are always more fugles coming. Purgatory taught me that. Can't believe I was so stupid! Since I've been back, Benny said I've lost a step but…" shakes his head in disgust. "If I got dumped back into Purgatory, I wouldn't last a day."

Immediately Sam gently entreats, "Dean, cut yourself a break," because he never could stand back and let Dean tear himself down, especially over something wholly out of his hands and fully not his fault. "There was no reason for you to expect man-eating monsters at every turn. This is not Purgatory."

Dean's eyes darken and he sits up straighter, challenges Sam, "You're not sure I know that, right? You think that you need to tell me I'm not still there, that the jungle rules don't apply here."

Stunned at the turn of the conversation, Sam stammers, "What? No, Dean." But at Dean's non-blinking glower, he sharply repeats himself, "No!"

"Yeah, right," Dean mutters and drops his eyes down to the sheet on his lap, feels angry and helpless, and humiliated. Because Sam might be denying it, but he knows the score, knows how out of control he is, was in the forest. And that's not Sam's fault, any of this. '_But that's not stopping me from taking it out on him_.' He's about to man up and apologize when Sam speaks.

Realizing that Dean _should_ talk about his Purgatory memories, that if he shuts him down now, Dean will never speak of it again, will bury it like some dirty-little secret he should be ashamed of, Sam meets Dean's eyes and exhales. "Ok, let's talk about it."

Dean's eyes jump up to Sam's in surprise and fear. But at the solemnness and the raw _appeal _for him to open up pouring off of Sam, he tries to head off the counseling session at the pass with his usual smart mouth tactics. "Sorry, I'm writing an autobiography, 'Ten Million Little Monsters' and my agent made me swear to keep my story under lock and key. You'll have to wait and pay to get the juicy details, Sammy."

Not like its unexpected, Dean deflecting his honest concern, but it still hurts Sam, not for himself, but for Dean, that Dean can't accept that he values him, how much he values him, that he wouldn't think less of Dean if he completely fell apart. '_Because I would put him back together. Like he's done for me, more than once_.' And he needs Dean to know that, to believe that.

"I think you're forgetting, I'm the guy who almost shot you Dean, because I was hallucinating, didn't know what was reality and what wasn't," Sam opens with, knows exactly what Dean's about to say, that that was different. '_And then he'll make up some lame excuse why it wasn't my fault_. _But it isn't Dean's fault either!'_

Cutting Dean off before he gets a chance to utter one word, Sam says, "But you're not lost like I was, you know you're out of Purgatory. But Dean, that doesn't mean it all just goes away, that the …." Sam searches for a description and then knows he has no right to qualify it, can't, doesn't know what it was like for Dean. Will probably never know. "…the …the stuff that you went through in Purgatory, it's not something anyone could stow away like it never existed. You were there for a year, Dean. Fighting for your life. You can't just switch off your survival instincts, lock away the memories, be exactly who you were before you got zapped into Purgatory."

"And that's the real problem, isn't it?" Dean quietly surmises, watches as Sam tilts his head in confusion. "I'm not the same." Giving a derisive snort, he continues, "And you were ashamed of me before I did my Purgatory stint. Now, I've got savagery down to an art form, zone out for friggin' minutes at a time in the middle of a hunt, not to mention flipping my crap and practically needing to be strapped down. All in all, I'm really awesome to have at your back, right? Friggin' Garth's better. Even Kevin's got some nice moves for a geek scribe. Maybe you should partner up with them….or, better yet, go back to Texas, tell Amelia you made a mistake, made the wrong choice…."

But Sam can't hear any more. Surging off the bed, he towers over his brother and growls, "Wrong choice?! I didn't make the wrong choice, Dean! Not with Amelia… _and not with Mac and his group_," he unflinchingly tacks on, knows that no matter what road they travel, the issue will still be there separating them. Again Dean's eyes dart away and Sam hates that, Dean separating himself from him, drawing a line Sam's not supposed to cross. '_Too bad, Dean. This line needs to be crossed_.' So he says it bluntly, no euphemisms, no dodging the truth, just puts it out there. "I sacrificed the lives of Zeke, Vicki, Ivan and Mac so you could live. And if you think I would undo that….I wouldn't."

Dean's wide eyes hold his and there's no air in the room, just the unvarnished truth.

"Maybe that makes me a monster…" Sam starts but then candidly corrects, "No, I know it does…but I wasn't going to lose you all over again, Dean. And I don't care if you zone out for an entire day and wake up every night swinging at me…or…or …have the blood of the whole population of Purgatory on your hands. It doesn't change anything between us, doesn't change **us**. Doesn't mean that you're not still the only person I want to have my back, **trust** to have my back. And the fact that you doubt that is just….just…stupid."

Dean's eyebrows rise at the finale of Sam's rant, and even as his heart's swelling at his brother's loyalty, he can't help but taunt, "Stupid…that's all you got?"

And just like that, the tension in Sam's chest dissipates and he knows that they are going to be OK, will make it through this storm like they have all the rest, together. With an embarrassed smirk, he shakes his head, "How do you expect me to be articulate, Dean, when you're royally pissing me off?"

"Grace under pressure, Sammy. Thought they taught you that at Stanford," Dean heckles, bestowing his trademark smirk on his little brother.

For Sam, Dean's smirk is like a rainbow after a savage storm, makes a promise he wouldn't believe from anyone else but Dean. "Yeah, right, well they never had to try and win an argument with you," his words coated with lighthearted mirth. Then he reclaims his seat at Dean's waist and a peaceful silence falls between them as they look at each other. But Sam knows there's more he needs to say. "Dean, about Mac and the others, whether you agree with my decision or not, you have to accept that the choice was mine, not yours. Their deaths…they are on me, not you."

But Dean's shaking his head. "No, Sam. Like I said, I…."

Breaking into his brother's denials, Sam makes one of his own, his tone painfully gentle, "Dean, it wasn't your fault that you got hurt." Then his eyes darkened as the memories replay, of numbly standing there in shock as something swished by the seemingly inconsequential space that separated him from Dean, seeing the blood, begin to run down the back of one of Dean's favorite jackets, then watching Dean collapse. And he did nothing to stop any of it. "If anyone's to blame, it's me. I was supposed to have your back, remember," he bites out in self-loathing.  
Instantly Dean's protesting Sam's statement. "Sam, you couldn't …"

"Have known there were two of them?" Sam sardonically retorted, a sour grin flipping up his lips. "Yeah, think I already told you that."

Sensing the stalemate, Dean sighs, would nervously rub his hand over his mouth if he thought he had a chance of lifting his hand that far. But his body's still revolting being awake, is fully against movement, of any kind. Nevertheless, one look into Sam's eyes and he knows that even if he were half in the grave, he would find a way to have this conversation with Sam. And in that desperation to make things better for Sam, he lets himself cling to foolish hope. "Maybe they made it."

Sam gravely shakes his head. As much as he wants to, he can't lie to Dean about this, can't shatter the faith his brother has just started to regain in him, in his word, in his trustworthiness. "Garth sent some hunters out there." He stops there, knows he doesn't need to elaborate, can read the pain in Dean's eyes at the loss of innocent lives, lives they had set out to protect.

Reaching out, he wraps his fingers around Dean's forearm as if he fears Dean will skitter away from him, from what he's about to say, has the strength _to_ skitter away. Then his eyes lock with Dean's and refuse to let go. "Dean, I made the choice in the forest, the only choice I could live with. And I'll deal with their deaths…but it's only bearable if you stick around, don't make what I did for nothing. You have to stop thinking you need to always be in control, man, that you should handle things on your own. And you have to know that I'll fight your battles for you when you can't. Just like you've done for me my entire life."

Though Dean appreciates Sam's pledge, he can't accept it. It isn't the proper order of things. He is the older brother, his father had assigned _him _as Sam's protector…not the other way around. "Sam, you don't have to…"

Sensing his brother's rejection of his offer, Sam heads it off by playfully slapping Dean's leg, hides his worry and his hurt behind a jest, "Come on, what good is it having a little brother if you can't use and abuse him once in a while, right? Get him to do all the heavy lifting while you kick back, fake an injury from a Wendigo."

"Fake? _Fake_?!" Dean repeats, voice rising in indignation. "Dude, that thing had Wolverine claws. They practically came out my chest."

"Wolverine?!" Sam mockingly echoed with a scoffing laugh. "Sabretooth… maybe. His nails just needed a bit of a trim," he teasingly amended.

And whatever comeback Dean would have been made is lost as the doctor times his visit right then.

Sam soon finds himself pushed to the background, retreats until his back hits the wall to give the doctor room to examine Dean but he doesn't leave, won't. And he finds that it gripes him, that doctors are never around when you need them but this dude had to show up now, before he is ready to share Dean, maybe before Dean is ready to be seen by anyone but him. So he gives Dean an encouraging small smile behind the doctor's back, hates that the doctor's supposedly well-meaning prodding elicits pain from his brother. Not like Dean shows it. But Sam knows, detects the shift in Dean's breathing, reads the pain in his brother's eyes and it takes every restraint to not shove the doctor away from Dean like he had the orderly that morning, to not protect Dean, from any and all harm, even those acting benevolently.

Then the doctor's asking about Dean's pain level and the jerk lies right to the doctor's face, says it's a 4 when Sam would bet his laptop it's barely topping out at 15. And though the doctor is explaining Dean's injuries and the procedures they performed on him in layman's terms, whatever bed side manner award Sam's about to bestow on him gets revoked at the doctor's next words.

"Honestly, I didn't think you would survive. The extent of your injury, the time that lapsed until you received medical treatment, the onset of shock, then the coma….I've never seen anyone beat such long odds."

Pushing off the wall, Sam stalks for the doctor, is about to physically throw the man out of the room before he upsets Dean more with his morbid post-prediction. But Dean makes his reply before he can lays hands on the doctor.

"Didn't do it alone," Dean says and his eyes, they aren't on the doctor, have found Sam, gives credit where credit is due. Knows that it isn't about his willpower, or his physical stamina or even some medical breakthroughs. No, he survived for only one reason: because of his brother. Because Sam wouldn't let him go, because Sam did everything, _everything_ in his power to improve his odds, to keep him alive.

Sam's breath catches in his throat at Dean's praise, at his brother's gratitude, knows there's unreserved forgiveness for the death of Mac and the others in Dean's declaration too. Knows he should be rejoicing, because Dean's forgiveness, it's what he's wanted, and not just for this screwed up hunt, but for so many things he's done…and not done. '_Like not looking for Dean after he disappeared._'

But the gratitude, maybe even the forgiveness, isn't his to have, not really, not when he didn't save Dean alone, had help, needed help. Because it wasn't his presence that Dean welcomed in the woods in the middle of his delirium, was Benny Dean wanted there with him, was Benny who Sam pretended to be. Was the vampire's perceived presence that steered Dean back from the brink of frantic fear. And the distress signal that directed the rescue helicopter and paramedics to Dean, Sam hadn't sent it, didn't know who did, but it wasn't him. Any more than it was his skills that repaired the damage to Dean's body. So Dean's praise, it is misplaced.

When the doctor shifts, blocks his view of Sam, Dean wants to shove the doctor aside, might have if he had the strength to push anything heavier than the blanket on his lap. But even left with the unexciting view of the doctor's white coat, Dean can only see in his mind's eyes the look in his brother's face at his intended praise. Not blushing in humbled embarrassment but gutted shame. Like Sam didn't think he deserved the praise, the accolades for saving him. '_Sam, who else would deserve it_?!' he wants to demand of Sam, to break his brother out of his knack to beat himself.

But then the doctor's asking him more questions and he has to concentrate to answer them because he just friggin' woke up for real, hasn't taken full stock of his body's condition yet. Internally grouses, '_Isn't that the doctor's friggin' job, can't he just pretend I'm still in a coma, do his own little analysis without any input from me?!'_ because he has more important things to think about, namely finding a way to wipe that desolation off his brother's face, blot it out of Sam's soul.

Sam stiffens in objection as the doctor orders Dean to roll over, is about to rail at the doctor that Dean just came out of a coma hours ago, can barely _move_ when the doctor's hands gently aid Dean to achieve the new position. Instantly anger and jealousy war inside Sam and his hands fist at his side because it's yet another instance of someone helping Dean who isn't him. But when the doctor pulls the dressing off Dean's lower back, he's immediately there looking over the doctor's shoulder, needs to see the treated wound for himself, to make his own assessment of his brother's well-being.

Though all stitched up and no longer welling blood, the wound is gruesome. Makes Sam sick because it's not about the surface ugliness, the row of stitches, the red inflamed skin, the puncture site, no, its about what lies underneath, muscle and bone and organs, all impaled with one single lash from a Wendigo's claws. One second of inattention, of his having his guard down, of failing to have his brother's back. '_And how many seconds are in a year, how many days, weeks, months were you not there to have Dean's back, to protect him?! But Benny was, a friggin' vampire was._' And under the jealousy, comes something far more devastating_. 'But Benny saved Dean, in the worst most hostile environment he managed to keep Dean alive, safe. Did more than I have ever done, because I've never actually saved Dean's life when it counted, have I? Not after the car accident, not from going to hell, not getting him out of hell, and not in Purgatory, it has always been ….someone not me.'_

And he couldn't fight the feeling that the same is true now, that the miracle, it isn't his to claim. It was who ever made that distress call, was the person's presence Dean clung to when everything was going south. No matter how much he wants it to be him…it isn't.

Stepping back until he's tripping over the chair in the room, Sam swallows hard, struggles to not break down, to not apologize to Dean. '_For failing him all over again.' _He doesn't realize that the doctor's looking up from his inspection of Dean's wound, is looking at him. For a moment, he simply stares back in confusion before the doctor catches on and repeats his question_. _

"Has he been lucid since he woke up? Have you noticed any gaps in his memory?"

Eyes shifting to Dean's pale face pressed into the pillow, Sam hoarsely answers, "Yes,", realizes a moment later that the doctor's question is two fold, but he doesn't clarify. Because Dean has gaps in his memory of what happened, is forgetting that Sam's not the miracle worker like he is. That he's never resurrected him from the dead, didn't make a deal with Death to break him from the Cage, didn't pop into his psychiatric ward with an angel in tow to take on his crazy, that was all Dean. '_No, I'm just Dean's brother, have this fierce __need__ to save Dean, just never the ability to_.' And he closes his eyes in anguish, at the brutal truth of that statement.

Whatever's going on with Sam, it's scaring Dean. Makes him think about trying to roll the rest of the way out of the bed and go to his brother before Sam bolts out the door. Because that's what Sam does, he gets overwhelmed and then he bolts. '_Leaves me behind,'_ Dean fearfully clarifies and he's not up to that right now, being on his own, being without Sam. Has never truly welcomed that or handled it well when it happens. And he doesn't see that ever changing.

From his position on his side, Dean reaches a trembling hand out to coil around the bed railing, all the while wishing it was his brother that he was latching onto. "Sam," he calls out, allows that thread of fear, of need to seep through his brother's name, hopes to lure Sam back to him, to persuade Sam to stay with him.

It's not the utterance of his name that has Sam's eyes snapping open to land on Dean but the tremble in his brother's voice. And Dean's features, they say everything Dean won't, that Dean's afraid he's about to go all looney tunes again, or worse, is about to abandon him. '_Not like that's an unheard of thing, is it_?!' he sardonically thinks, feels sick at the number of times he's done just that when Dean was wearing this same expression, the one pleading for him to stay, to listen, to see things from his point of view.

Dean doesn't realize that he's holding his breath until Sam steps, not toward the door, but to him.

Then Sam's at his side, is leveling a charged look down at him. And Dean's still trying to figure out if Sam's offering him sympathy, pity or affection when his brother raises his eyes to the doctor on the other side of his bed.

"So how is he?" Sam demands because the doctor's supposed to be there to give them answers, not the other way around. And he needs some peace of mind, someone to say that Dean's out of danger, that he doesn't have to worry about closing his eyes and waking up to a world where Dean no longer exists. Because as much as Dean's lucidity helps calm his fears, there are tendrils still there, scampering around inside him, searing into the relief he wants so badly to grab onto.

Dean doesn't bother trying to concentrate on the doctor's spiel, simply watches Sam's expression, knows that will tell him everything he needs to know. Besides Sam's the one who understands the medical jargon, not him. Amusedly, he thinks that's probably true because the doctor's generic statements are rooted in lawyer speak so the doctors don't get sued. Though he picks up words like 'internal bleeding' 'repairs' 'healing well' and 'lengthy recovery', it's the fact that Sam's features smooth out from creased worry to sagging relief that tell Dean he's not dying again anytime soon.

Nodding gratefully at the doctor's reassurance that Dean's on the road to a full recovery, Sam drops his gaze down to his brother's pale profile and smirks. It's just like Dean to tune out the doctor and take a nap. Laying an affectionate hand on Dean's head, he rubs his thumb in his brother's short hair, doesn't even register that the doctor's left the room until he looks up minutes later to determine that he and Dean are alone.

That suits him just fine.

Lifting his hand from Dean's head, he tugs Dean's hand from its loose grip around the bed railing and encloses it in his own hand instead, rests both on the bed. Then, using his foot to drag a chair closer, he sinks into its somewhat soft confines, all the while not losing his physical contact with his brother. Not that Dean would notice if he did but that's not really the point right then. '_I'm the one clinging to him_,' he acknowledges, gives the hand he's holding a gentle warm squeeze. Because the doctor might be an expert at determining the state of Dean's physical well-being, but Sam is an expert at determining his brother's mental well-being, or is supposed to be, should be after all this time. And he can't negate the feeling that Dean will be more than willing to shut him out again if he's not vigilant, doesn't continue to earn Dean's restored trust in him, doesn't maintain his possessive, protective hold on Dean.

So he hangs on, even when Dean has no notion he's there, hangs on for the both of them and prays that it will be enough, that he'll be enough this time. Because there's no Bobby, no angel, no vampire here, no one else to be Dean's safety net, just him. But he can't shut out Zeke's words about his PTS coping methods:"You mean after I nearly blew my own head off?" And Sam can't let Dean go down that road, won't. But even as his resolve is unshakeable, his doubt is equally embedded in his soul, not because of Dean's weakness but his own. Bowing his head over his brother's healing body but wounded soul, he beseeches, '_Please let me be enough._'

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful comments on last chapter! And thanks for everyone's patience as I try to wrap this story up. I still can't believe you've all so graciously let me ramble on for 16 Chapters already but it's been such fun hearing all your thoughts!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	17. Chapter 17: Second Chances

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: By the time Sam figures out that trekking through a forest, looking for a Wendigo, is the last place on God's green earth Dean wants to be, it's too late to turn back. No Slash.

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Chapter 17: Second Chances

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_Rule # 17: There are no resurrections here and second chances are few and far between. _

**SNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNS**

When the brilliant flash of his grace receded, Cas quickly lifted his hand from Dean's eyes, anxiously peered down into his friend's still dull gaze. "Dean? Are you alright?" the angel intently demanded, because, though he could no longer hear the echo of Dean's silent scream in his head, the silence that followed wasn't all that reassuring.

But Dean didn't make a reply, didn't blink an eye, didn't move.

Fearing that his actions had been in vain, Cas beckoned with a thread of panic in his voice, "Dean, speak to me," as he cupped Dean's face with his hand. But Dean's reaction was only a disquieting _lack_ of reaction. Rationale giving way to his fear, Cas slid his hands behind his friend's neck and back and tugged Dean upright with a little more force than care.

Having not regained an ounce of control over his body, the momentum of Cas' tug had Dean doing a nosedive …right into the unforgivably hard plane of Cas' chest. Which he rebounded from a second later, was sliding back to the ground when, in the nick of time, Cas' arms slid around him and the angel pulled him forward again. Dean's chin, however, clunked against Cas' collarbone.

Tasting blood in his mouth, Dean mentally grumbled, '_Great, add _'bit my lip'_ to the day's humiliations_.' But on the bright side, the agony was backing down from supernova to just a single star exploding.

Benny, finding movement was finally possible, rolled to his side, pulled his legs up and bowed his head, curled up like the insect he had almost become. "Sweet mother," he choked out, voice still raw from his scream and the abating agony. "What did you do? I felt like you were roasting me from the inside out."

Not used to Dean submissively allowing him to be in his "personal space", it took Cas a moment to realize the vampire expected a reply. Though he didn't raise his unblinking gaze from the crown of Dean's head as his friend bonelessly rested against him, Cas unflappably explained, "I emitted a small portion of my grace. I thought it the best way to kill the caterpillars and expel the toxins without causing Dean irreparable damage."

"Dean?! What about irreparable damage to me?" Benny challenged in indignation, though he actually wasn't faulting the angel's priorities.

At the question, Cas' eyes alighted on Benny. "I was uncertain of the effect it would have on you since you are…." Cas broke off, didn't think it would be appropriate to call Benny a monster after the time they had spent together.

But another voice didn't hesitate to throw out the slur "..a monster," Dean mumbled, face still pressed into Cas' jacket but glad that his tongue was finally doing its thing.

Benny huffed, "I saved your hide, about got turned into a bug doing it, and that's the gratitude I get," but there was mirth there, a celebration that they had all scraped by another death trap and would live, at least a little while longer.

"Caterpillar," Dean tiredly corrected Benny, found that he could close his eyes, felt tingling in his arms and legs but could still not actually move. "Turned into a caterpillar then a butterfly, if you're really lucky."

His face resting in the leaves, unmindful that he was squashing dead caterpillars, Benny snorted, "Right, cause you think that would be lucky. I gotta say, being turned into a vamp, didn't hurt as bad as that there just did."

"The complexities of the organisms' internal…" Cas began but Benny and Dean both cut him off with a hiss, "Cas!" Getting the message, Cas fell silent, but wasn't inactive, began to brush the remains of caterpillars from Dean's back while still keeping a supportive hand on Dean to ensure the man remained upright. "Dean, I believe feeling will return to your extremities soon."

"Feeling, yeah, movement…not so much," Dean acknowledged, hated the encompassing weakness, that he was slumped against Cas's chest, was being friggin' held in the angel's arms. But his mind numbing fear was fading. And he found that, even though he would be fully vulnerable if something hungry came strolling along their path right then, he trusted that his friends would keep him safe. That Benny and Cas wouldn't let him die here if it was in their power to save him.

Though it was all kinds of crazy, he felt a peace settle over him. Dying, he had come to terms with that. Fear, that was just there to keep him alive. It was the being alone part he had never been good with. But here, he didn't have to worry about that. Benny had proven a thousand times over that he was too stubbornly stupid to abandon him to save his own life. And Cas, he had stayed with them, even when the Leviathans had attacked, even through his repeated 'I'm a danger to you' speeches he hadn't bailed on him again, seemed intent on playing the guardian angel card Cas teased him about being.

But more unexplainable than the peace was the spike of dread Dean felt, not that he would be locked in Purgatory forever but that he **wouldn't**. That he would find the portal, get out, get free. Because then what? He didn't know how long he had been gone, if Sam was alright, if Sam.. '_Will accept what I've become_.' Because he might not have turned into a caterpillar but Dean knew he had changed, was something more twisted than he was after Hell.

"_Just wondering, Dean. Now that __you're__ the monster, would Sammy have the same mercy on you that you had on him? Or will your 'virtuous' little brother be so disgusted by what you've become that he slits your throat in your sleep. Part of me hopes so."_

Gordon's taunt echoed in his head, would maybe never go away…until Sam proved the sadistic hunter wrong…or right. And honestly, Dean didn't know if he was going to be brave enough to show Sam who he was now, what he was. Because if, after all this horror and fear and pain, he got out of here just to end up losing Sam's respect and love….

Crap, he couldn't think that way or he wouldn't have the courage to find the portal, let alone walk through it. Would stay here with the other monsters, would maybe shove Cas through. '_Yeah and if you don't go, you'd condemn Benny to staying here too. Wow, great payback for all he's done for you._' Nearly sighing, he realized that there was no chickening out, that he had to find the portal, had to walk through it, had to save his friends even if he ended up condemning himself to a solitary life topside. And maybe that was for the best, him being alone. He had already told Benny they should split up when they got out, didn't ever really worry that Cas wouldn't wing off the second they got on firm ground. And if he found Sam, if things couldn't be the way they were before, if he told Sam how he had been down here and his brother couldn't stand to have him around….he'd have to accept that. Accept that some things, they changed you forever and there was no going back. That you had to just put one foot in front of another, move forward, don't quit. Because, for whatever reasons, Cas and Benny and Sam, they all had found value in him enough to save his life one time or another, …and he couldn't forget that, belittle that. Besides, his mom had taught him to be grateful for gifts given…even when the gifts sometimes sucked.

But it didn't suck now, to be alive, to be even where he was because the company he kept, it was stellar. And the funny thing was, he didn't choose either of them, had in fact, threatened both Cas and Benny's lives at their first meeting. But then again, the old saying was you couldn't choose your family. Course, sometimes, if you were really lucky, your family chose you.

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

It wasn't the best night's sleep Sam had ever gotten, what with the nurses coming in all hours of the night to check Dean's vitals, to take blood and then there was that episode with Dean jerking awake, eyes wide, sweat instantly beading on his forehead, the heart monitor readings going wild.

**SNSNSNSN~ Four Hours Earlier ~ SNSNSNSNS**

Jolted awake more by the change in his brother's breathing than anything else, Sam's head snapped up from his comfyish position on the side of Dean's bed and his blurry eyes flew to his brother's face even as he came surging to his feet to lean over his brother. Both afraid to touch Dean and afraid to not touch him, he went on his instincts, reached out, laid his hand on Dean's chest and knew, if Dean had the strength he would have bound off the bed and tackled him to the floor. As it was, Dean's only defense was to swing out with a feeble punch, which Sam caught in his hand before it could glance off his jaw. Then lowering their bound hands onto Dean's chest, he softly but emphatically proclaimed, "Hey, it's Sam. You're ok. You're safe," but seeing Dean's anxiety wasn't subsiding, he clarified, "We're safe, Dean. I'm taking this watch, alright. You just get some more rest."

Dean blinked and some of his fight or flight compulsion receded, like he was getting what Sam was saying, was starting to believe the threat that was screaming in his mind, it wasn't real. That even if it was, Sam would handle it. He trusted Sam to handle it. But he still murmured, "If you need me…."

"I'll wake you, Dean," Sam vowed, his voice painfully gentle at Dean's tenacious instinct to protect him, even when his brother's strength was practically non-existent.

And then Dean had nodded and slipped back to sleep.

But sleep didn't come so easily for Sam. Not when he didn't know how long Dean could continue to do this, endure the night terrors, have the memories of Purgatory flood him during the days, pretend that he could put Purgatory in a box and forget it, move on. That Dean could keep that part of himsef hidden from him and not have it eat him up inside like acid.

'_Dean talked about Hell eventually and he got better. So if I give him time…he'll open up to me_.' But there was doubt there because Dean's trust in him, it wasn't as strong as it was before. '_My fault. Not his_," Sam hurled accusingly at himself, knew he had handled Dean's return from Purgatory poorly, piss poorly. '_Fine, then I'll re-earn his trust like I've done before_.' Because, even if Dean could stand the PTS effects of his time in Purgatory, Sam couldn't. Wouldn't be a helpless bystander to his brother's suffering, not any more.

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

Stretching in the hospital room's visitor chair, Sam winces, can feel the muscles in his back nearly freezing up on him as he pushs himself to his feet. But his eyes don't waver from their lock on Dean, on a Dean who is still asleep, face still painfully pale against the pillow.

_Vulnerable_, his callous mind labels and that only make his stomach turn because he doesn't like seeing Dean vulnerable, ever. Makes his protective instincts burn brighter, makes him begin to think about things like how long Dean's fake ID and insurance information will hold out, if there are any Leviathans still out there trying to track them down, get payback for the way they had fizzled their making-the-world-their-buffet plans, where he could take Dean if they need to make a hasty escape. Certainly not to the derelict boat they had stashed Kevin on with Garth and their usual motel choices didn't offer up the most comfortable of beds, especially when Dean's back would be radiating pain a good long while. Not to mention Dean's lacking the strength to even roll over on his own at the moment.

'_Hopefully I wouldn't have to move him, that I can give him time to heal up here._' And he can't help but wonder how many times Dean had been hurt in Purgatory and had to still keep running, push past the pain, ignore the pain. Because Dean had admitted it, said he remembered the pain from Purgatory and Sam knew from long experience that his brother didn't say that word casually, barely admitted to it at all when it came to himself. So Dean saying it….meant it had been bad…maybe often. '_And I was busy being freaked out about hitting a dog, whether the dog would make it?!_' The comparison making him ill, how misplaced his priorities were, that he had managed to rescue a friggin' dog…and not his own brother. '_No, a vampire and an angel did that.'_

And it hits him, not just the guilt, but his gratitude to Cas….and even to Benny. For being there for Dean when he couldn't. For saving Dean's life when he hadn't. For getting his brother out of Purgatory…and back to him. Silently he curses because he had drawn Cas aside when he returned, had thanked him for his part in that, but he left something undone: Benny. Thanking Benny. Because, like it or not, Dean trusted the vampire for a reason and Sam knew that only came about one way: Benny had proven himself worthy of Dean's loyalty.

Sam curses more viciously because he has done the opposite, has proven himself so unworthy of Dean's loyalty. Has given Dean little reason to ditch a vampire who, in Dean's own words, "Had never let him down" for a guy who has done little else _but_ let him down. It doesn't take a genius to make the call on that one…and yet here Dean is, with him. Has parted ways with Benny and stayed with him. No matter how undeserving he is of Dean's loyalty, Dean bestows in on him anyways. Like he always did.

He doesn't know his eyes are welling until Dean shifts, until he rubs at his eyes, feels his fingers come away moist. Hand swiping quickly down his face to wipe away the remnants of his emotions, he focuses on Dean, watches as his brother's eyes flutter open, settle on him. "Hey," Sam greets and Dean hoarsely echoes it back. Then the silence falls but Dean is giving him a funny look, like he knows his brother just went through an emo-moment. But Dean's next words don't call him out.

"You sleep here all night?" Dean asks, worry and a shade of reprimand in his tone as he inspects his brother's rumpled, haggard appearance. He doesn't remember how they had left things last night but he had hoped Sam would have had the good sense to sack out at their motel instead of stubbornly staying in the hospital with him. Sam's shifting eye contact tells him he had hoped too much.

Avoiding Dean's question, Sam volleys back his own question, "How you feeling today?" When Dean's brow crunches up in frustration and his brother snarks back, "Fine, didn't need the all night vigil, Sam," he actually smiles because that is the Dean he knows and loves. Wonders how Dean would take it if he knew he had spent half the night holding his hand. He nearly smirks at the thought of Dean's embarrassment over that, must have let some of it show because Dean demands, "What?" the next moment.

Shrugging innocently, Sam denies, "Nothing." But Dean's narrowed gaze tells him his brother isn't buying that. Changing topics, he announces, "Was going to go grab a shower, change. You need anything?"

"Besides getting out of here?" Dean grouses, though he knows at the moment any escape plan would resort to Sam carrying his about useless carcass out of the hospital. Crap, he hates being weak

Sam's smile is gentle, knows that Dean knows his physical state as much as he does. But he doesn't point that out, simply replies back with a light, "Yeah, something other than tthat?"

"Clothing, shoes …"

"Dean," Sam gently cuts into Dean's one track demand.

Dean rolls his eyes in defeat. "Fine, comb…"

"Thought I was the vain one…" Sam teasingly interjects but Dean determinedly talks right over him.

"…toothbrush, something to read."

At that last demand, Sam stalks back to the chair he had vacated, snags a bag off the ground and tosses the array of magazines he had bought from the gift shop onto Dean's lap. Dean's eyes shoot up to Sam's in surprise, "A.D.D. much?! Sam, there are enough magazines here to last you a week." Picking up a magazine, he gives Sam a weird look. "And since when do you read about muscle cars? Sam, you told me yourself you had to take an online course to learn the parts of a car before you could fix up the Impala."

"I got the magazines to read them to you, you ungrateful jerk," Sam laughingly shoots back, enjoys the way Dean's eyebrows jerk upward in surprise. "Got you this too," he proclaims before he pulls the Snuggles Bear look alike out of the bag, tosses it at his brother and laughs as it pings off Dean's face. Dean's reaction time is so shot.

Picking up the stuffed animal that Sam had assaulted him with, Dean turns it around, gets a good look at it. Immediately he knows why Sam got it for him and it has nothing to do with Sam being a kind-hearted brother. "Dude, you know this fabric softener bear …"

"Creeps you out…." Sam helpfully finishes, laughs out loud when Dean scowls. And when Dean wings the bear back at him, he takes that as his cue to leave the room…nearly at a run.

SNSNSNS ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN

When Sam returns to the room three hours later, he finds Dean asleep…and with the bear sitting up on the nightstand, seemingly watching over him. Obviously some of the nurse staff had "helped" Dean display his gift. It would have been priceless to see Dean's scowl at their thoughtfulness.

He is about to reach his designed chair when his brother's voice breaks the silence.

"You know I'm salting and burning that thing the second someone gets me a lighter, right?"

Sam smirks as his brother's green eyes open and settle on him as he reclaims his rightful spot at his brother's side. "Come on, Dean. It watched over you while I was gone." When Dean actually manages to shift up right a bit on the bed and levels a pretty lucid glare at him, he points at his brother, "Hey, you're the one who got me that Plunky clown …for therapy, right? So this is your therapy to get over…what's it called when you're afraid of stuffed animals?" he tries to ask with a straight face.

Instantly Dean railes back, "It's not fear, it's …."

"What, precaution?" Sam taunts, using Dean's own words against him.

A knock on the room door cuts off Dean's comeback, which would have been rife with swear words, has them both looking to see the medical personnel who falsely deemed it permissible to interrupt them. But Sam surges to his feet at the sight of the person at Dean's hospital room door.

"Hope me being here's OK. I just wanted to make sure Dean was alright," Zeke nervously opens with, wholly uncertain of his welcome as his eyes move from Dean's battered form in the hospital bed to the standing statue that is Sam.

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TBC

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Ok, I have to confess, when I wrote the group abandoning a hurt Dean to go after the Wendigo, I totally wasn't going to spare Zeke but you guys just liked him so much and so did Sam and Dean….that I couldn't break all your hearts. I decided that my loyal readers should have a say in the story that you've all been so graciously egging me on to continue to spin. So I hope you enjoyed the surprise of Zeke's survival and I know some of you, (AlecDeanFan) guessed where this was heading. You guys are just too smart for me!

I'm thinking I can wrap this story up with the next chapter but you all know how wordy I get sometimes so we'll have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments that so make my days better.

Have a great day and for those in the USA – Happy 4th of July!

Cheryl W.


	18. Chapter 18: What Comes Next

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's note: Ok, so I should be wrapping this tale up….bbbbbbuuuuutttt…I had a few things I decided to throw into the mix so I've added a few more chapters to the story. Hope you're not all groaning and throwing tomatoes at me!

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Chapter 18: What Comes Next

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_Rule # 18: More times than not, what comes next, is way worse than anything that's come before. _

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

"Hope me being here's OK. I just wanted to make sure Dean was alright," Zeke nervously opens with, his eyes moving from Dean's battered form in the hospital bed to the standing statue that is Sam, all the while wholly uncertain of his welcome.

For his part, Dean looks at Zeke speechless, because yeah, in their line of work, sometimes dead didn't stay dead or _mean_ dead…but Zeke showing up …alive, seemingly not supernaturally reanimated, it is encroaching on miracle territory. Suddenly he shoots Sam a look, hoping his brother's unrivaled ability to make logical leaps for the unexpected is kicking in, can make sense of Zeke's survival. But he finds that Sam's radiating shock worse than his.

Utterly astonished at Zeke's appearance, it's taking Sam a few minutes before he can start to process it, to come up with scenarios of how it is that Zeke's not dead. And then there's a spring of hope, hope that Zeke isn't the only survivor, until Sam remembers the clinical descriptions of the corpses found at the Wendigo lair: woman, man with military tattoos, _remains_ of a man with blond hair, _four_ backpacks, all fresh kills.

No, they were only granted one miracle. '_Two,_' Sam firmly corrects himself, because Dean's survival, that is a miracle in itself, he knows that. Honestly, it was the only one he needed. But Zeke, here, alive, it is an unexpected gift, not just because it is one less person he got killed but because it will assuage some of Dean's self-assigned and unwarranted guilt. And that matters more to Sam than lessening his own culpability.

Zeke takes encouragement in the fact that Dean doesn't instantly tell him to get out and Sam's not charging at him, about to physically throw him out of the room, isn't even rushing to block his path to Dean. With his heart rate tacking down, he can give in to the welling relief at just the sight of an alive Dean. "You look better than the last time I saw you, thank God," he assesses because, as pale as Dean is now, it's not the bone whiteness he had sported in the woods, and the younger man's lost the look in his eyes that Zeke had witnessed too many times in the eyes of his fellow soldiers: the grim realization that they weren't going to make it, weren't going home, ever again.

With Sam seemingly not ready to question Zeke's bewildering survival and Dean not up to playing the disturbingly familiar round of 'you're supposed to be dead', Dean instead simply reacts to Zeke's statement. "Considering how bad I probably look now, that's not saying much," he wisecracks back, giving a smirk, neither tactic up to the job of disguising the fatigue in his voice or the frailty of his body.

But Zeke smiles all the same because the scene before him is more than he had let himself hope. He had coached himself all the way there that Dean might not have made it, that he would have to deal with the guilt of having had a hand in that. In letting the younger man _die_. "Maybe it's not, still's supposed to be a compliment."

Zeke's smile, it's like a punch to Sam's gut, tells Sam that the man doesn't know his friends are all dead, that it's on him to give Zeke that bad news. And he honestly doesn't know how Zeke will react, had never quite figured out the strength of the bond between Zeke and the others. '_You never know how much someone really means to you until they are gone_.' He knew that better than anyone: Jessica, his Dad, but Dean was the worst of them all because Sam had thought he already knew how much Dean meant to him, what it felt like to lose him, but each time Dean slipped away from him, he learned it all over again, worse than before. Like Dean had burrowed even deeper into his soul each time he came back, took more of _Sammy_ when he left leaving _Sam _little to survive on.

Shaking his head, banishing his thoughts to another moment, Sam knows that if he doesn't step up to the plate and do it soon, Dean will take it upon himself to tell Zeke about his friends. And that isn't Dean's place. '_It's mine. And I'm not going to let Zeke place any blame on Dean_.'

"Zeke, hey, let's talk outside," he abruptly announces, starting for Zeke, wants Zeke away from Dean when the other man hears the news, not willing to take the chance that Zeke will direct some of his condemnation and possible rage at his wounded brother.

Instantly catching onto his brother's intentions, Dean commands, "No, Sam, do it here," because what happened out there is on him as much as it is Sam and he isn't going to let Sam spin some tale that assigned himself all the blame. But Sam doesn't look his way, is reaching out, latching onto Zeke's arm like he's going to drag the man from the room. Cursing, Dean growls, "Sam, no!" even as he painfully rolls to his side, pushes the sheets down with a shaky hand and starts to lever himself up on his elbow, ready to follow Sam out the door if he has to.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Sam nearly flings Zeke's arm from his grasp as he stalks to his brother's side. "Hey, hey, no, Dean!" he cautions as his two hands latch onto Dean, not sure if he's preventing Dean from getting up or toppling out of bed. Has a sneaky suspicion his reaction was all part of Dean's plan when his brother's hand grabs a handful of his shirt front like he's never going to let go.

"We do it together, Sam," Dean insists, hopes that Sam can't tell that he's powerless to force Sam to do his wishes, just blew whatever meager strength he had rolling over, just _thinking _about sitting up.

Reading the determination in Dean's eyes, Sam nearly sighs. '_Like you thought he was going to suddenly stop being your big brother, let you shelter __him__ for a friggin' minute. Yeah, right_.' Aloud he gently sanctions, "Alright, alright," because really, he has no other choice, doesn't trust his stubborn brother to not try and crawl out into the hallway to join their conversation. "Just lay back, Dean," he says even as he helps Dean do a guided descent back onto the mattress instead of a hard collapse. But he doesn't miss that Dean closes his eyes in pain for a moment before the green gaze is locked back onto him, pretending the weakness is only a fleeting thing. But Sam's not fooled, not even for a little bit, knows Dean's not up for whatever row this turns into.

Sam does worried like no one else Dean's ever met. Makes it a whole body reaction, from the pinched look on his face, the clenching of his jaw, the rigidness in his body, to the way his eyes go all intense. And Sam's so there now. Cursing himself for doing a crap job of hiding just how badly he's feeling, he knows Sam's two seconds away from sending Zeke out of the room and calling in a nurse.

Feeling like an interloper, Zeke shuffles on his feet, begins, "Hey, I think I should just go…."

"No!" Dean protests though Sam's blocking his view of Zeke. Hastily, he grabs Sam's wrist, stops his brother mid-motion from turning around, from probably dismissing Zeke. He waits until Sam's gaze swings back to him before he implores, "Sam," asks, with that one word, for his brother to not shut him out, to let them tell Zeke the bad news together.

Sam doesn't need Dean to say any of that out aloud, can read it all in his brother's expression, knows this is a step, a small one, to getting them back on track, of being closer to where they were when Dean got drop kicked into Purgatory. And there's no way Sam can pass it up. Giving a silent nod to Dean, he watches Dean's tension drop even as his own spikes higher. Hopes his concession to Dean's wishes doesn't end up hurting Dean in some way.

Turning back to Zeke, Sam feels dread for the pain he's about to cause the other man but, at the same time, he's throwing out a silent warning to Zeke to not direct any of his anger at Dean. '_Because if Zeke wants to blame anyone, he should blame me._' And as much as he's flooded with guilt, he can't help acknowledge that he wouldn't undo his actions, not if they led to a different outcome, to him losing Dean. And it makes it harder, to tell Zeke the truth, to find it in himself to stand there beside his alive brother and tell Zeke his friends didn't make it. But he's not doing it alone.

Shifting to his left, Sam gives Dean a clear view of the other man, knows Dean expects to be his equal in this, not his wounded, safeguarded big brother. Course Dean doesn't need to know he has no intention of letting Zeke get closer to him, will bodily remove Zeke from the room if the other man even starts to blame Dean for any of his friends' deaths.

Pulling in a steadying breath Sam somberly states, "Zeke, I'm sorry…the others, they didn't make it." Tries not to focus on the hand he had in that outcome, of telling them where to find the Wendigo, watching them leave the camp, without the flare gun, hopelessly unarmed for what they were about to come up against.

Shock crests over Zeke, has him stammering in confusion, "Didn't make…." before he understands Sam's statement. Then coldness seeps into his bones, freezes his blood. Dead. Mac, Ivan and Vickie…all dead.

Body humming with energy, Sam isn't sure if Zeke will come up swinging or cursing, is braced to be the object of Zeke's hatred. But he's also started to coach himself to not totally lose it if Zeke's accusations start to land on Dean, because knowing Dean, if he goes all Rambo on Zeke in the room, his seriously wounded idiot brother would be foolish enough to try and get in the middle of them to break up their fight. No, if he and Zeke got into it, it would have to be away from Dean. Hence the bodily-removing-Zeke-from-the-room plan.

Watching the realization wash over Zeke that his friends were dead, Dean feels his stomach drop. He knew, only too well, about losing people he cared about, of having little warning that that was coming. Can sympathize with what Zeke is feeling right then. But when Zeke's eyes glaze over the next moment, Dean remembers that Zeke had been a soldier, understood the uncertainty of life, especially when you put yourself in harm's way. Like his friends had.

His voice hoarse, Zeke asks, "The Wendigo?" fighting, all the while, to accept the horrible truth.

Sam gives a non-verbal nod before he forces out the explanation, "I sent some people out to the cabin to stop the Wendigo. They were too late to save Mac and the others."

Zeke shakes his head, not in denial of Sam's news but anguish. "I knew that thing….it wasn't like any animal…was mostly human, but …evil. I shoulda …" he breaks off, knows not to go down that dark path of could-have-beens. It only leads to him doing another round of Russian roulette and he had played that game once and won, didn't think his odds were good for another try.

It's Dean who speaks in the void. "You weren't with them at the Wendigo lair?" his voice pitched without judgment, only wonder. Because the last thing he remembers is Zeke heading off into the woods along with the others, promising to come back at first light and help Sam get him to the ranger's station.

But Zeke's eyes don't go to Dean but hold Sam's gaze, like he needs Sam to assess the truthfulness of his next words. "I told Mac I couldn't do it, that he could ruin my company, sue me…but I wasn't going to sentence a good man to die."

Sam's attention, however, isn't drawn to Zeke but instead to Dean. He watches as his brother's eyebrows rise in surprise at Zeke's 'good man' label. '_Yes, stupid, he means you_!' he silently and affectionately directs to Dean before he contemplates Zeke a moment, puts the pieces together. "You turned around, came back to help Dean," appreciativeness in his tone and warm regard in his eyes as they hold the other man's gaze. But there is another emotion he offers to Zeke, regret for what Zeke's altruistic action cost him: maybe the small chance to save his friends.

Zeke runs a hand through his hair, sighs and nods his head. "Yeah, but you were gone by the time I got back to our camp. I was losing light so I bedded down in the other camp, the one with the protection wards. I got up at dawn, thinking I would meet up with you on the trail. But well, I didn't. When I got to the ranger's station, they said you had called in doing the night with your GPS location and search and rescue took you to the nearest trauma unit. It took them a few days before they arranged a ride for me and then I …well, here I am," Zeke finishes, looks spent suddenly, like everything is catching up with him.

But Dean heard something in Zeke's tale that Sam hadn't mentioned. Turning to his brother, he dubiously asks, "You got cell reception out there?"

Still putting together that Zeke didn't make the mysterious distress call, Sam deflects Dean's question with a "I'll tell you about it later." Dean's scowl informs him that his brother will pounce on him for an explanation as soon as Zeke's out the door.

Returning his focus to Zeke, Sam sadly offers, "Zeke, I am sorry about your friends," and he is, sorry that it came down to their lives or Dean's. "If I …if things…." But he can't lie outright, can't say he did everything in his power to save them, that he didn't put their downfall into motion, that, if he had to do it all over again, he would make another choice.

"I should have turned you guys around as soon as we met you on the trail," Dean remorsefully proclaims. "If I had…."

Sam opens his mouth to discount Dean's guilt but it's Zeke who speaks first. "We wouldn't have listened, Dean. We were all so set to make history. To make it into the big time. If seeing that thing up close and personal, watching that second one attack you didn't scare us into having some common sense…nothing you said or did was going to make a difference. We made our choice…" Zeke wretchedly states.

But Sam knows it was more than that, than them choosing to go after the Wendigo. The others had coldheartedly abandoned Dean to die and Sam finds, dead or not, he isn't ready to forgive them that. His voice carries an edge of judgment as he condemns, "And Mac, Ivan and Vicki, they made another choice, chose to not help me get Dean to help. If they had, they would still be alive."

"Sam," Dean warns, doesn't want bad blood between Zeke and Sam over him.

"No, he's right," Zeke agrees. "They…we…we left. Just stupid luck that I turned around….wasn't another meal for the Wendigo."

"Not luck. You came back to help Dean," Sam corrects, then he steps forward, holds out his hand to Zeke. "Thank you for that." And Zeke shakes his hand, even as he protests, "Not like I actually helped and yet I still got to live." He gives a bitter snort. "Guess even pathetic, half- hearted good intentions get rewarded sometimes."

Then Zeke's turning around, heading for the door, wants to put this all behind him. But he can't do it, can't run away, pretend this was all some nightmare he can write off…should write off. So he stops at the doorway and turns back to look at the brothers. "Not like I'm going to go looking for them, but there are other things like Wendigos in the world, aren't there?"

"Ah, yeah," Sam answers, sees Zeke nod and then the man looks to Dean and Sam can't help but tense up, ready to intervene if the man said anything he doesn't approve of to his brother.

Suddenly Zeke wants to repay Dean and Sam for what they did for him, tried to do for Mac, Ivan and Vicki. Knows enough about the two men to know that if he could help Dean in some small way, that would be payment enough for Sam. "Dean, I don't know what you've been through," he starts, notes that Dean's eyes darken and start to shut him out even as Sam shifts on his feet, ready to intervene if he makes a misstep in his good intentions. It makes Zeke choose his next words carefully, " …but I do know about getting home and finding out it might not have changed all that much but I have. And it's…." he shakes his head, can't put into words how it felt to get what he longed for and be ….almost disappointed in it. "…I'm not gonna lie to you, it messes you up for a good long while because part of you is back in that danger and part of you is here, trying to fit into your own life." Can see in Dean's expression that the younger man knows exactly what he's talking about, that their war experiences might have varied but their homecomings weren't so different. "And I'm no expert, not by a long shot, but I do know what got me through it was the people in my life. Just like the thought of seeing those people again got me through every day in Vietnam. Were the other vets who'd been through what I had, were the people I found I could open up to, people who could bear to hear how bad it was. So as much as it hurt to dredge all that up, it was better than swallowing it down, carrying that weight all on my own. And you, you've got someone willing to listen," he says, jerking his chin to Sam.

But Sam pales at that, remembers Dean saying he didn't tell him about Purgatory because he didn't ask. And he hadn't, couldn't. Was too guilt ridden and sick to know the awful truth of where he had stranded his brother for a friggin' year. And he can't look at Dean now, can't bear to see Dean's angry hurt again, expected Dean to tell Zeke how wrong he is about him, about having someone he can talk to, count on.

"I know," Dean hoarsely concedes, knows that Sam had been asking for details about Purgatory from day one and he had shut him down each time. Had given vague, short answers, if he gave any at all. Hurt and fear and shame had all tangled together inside him, making it nearly impossible to open up, to trust Sam. And even now, he can't commit to dropping his barriers, can't even look at Sam right then. Not when Sam probably thinks he's about to take Zeke's advice and start spilling his guts, share Purgatory stories around the campfire.

Though Sam's head had snapped to Dean at his brother's unexpected agreement with Zeke, Sam recognized the look on his brother's face, knew that, yes, Dean knew he was now up to hearing about Purgatory but Dean had no intentions of truly opening up to him. Silently Sam curses and swallows down the lump in his throat. Dean might have said he forgave him for not looking for him, for being a royal, insensitive jerk since his return but that didn't mean Dean trusted him, would ever trust him like he had. Would ever really talk to him about Purgatory, let him help him adjust to being back, being with him.

Watching the distressing interaction between the two men, Zeke isn't sure how he managed it, but he seemed to have made things worse between them. '_Crap, you're no counselor, had no right to go shooting off your mouth, screwing up whatever peace that they had managed to make between them_.' "Whoa, guys, what I just said….I didn't mean…."

"It's Ok," Sam pardons with a small fake smile, knows that it's not Zeke's words but his own past words, his own actions that stand between him and Dean. That might always stand between them. "I'll walk you out," he announces, doesn't want Zeke to say anything else to Dean, doesn't want the other man to tell Dean again to confide in him, wants to talk to Dean alone, to start to make some small headway into being the person Dean can count on again, can trust to have his back, that his brother can tell anything to and be confident that he'll listen, will understand, won't pass judgment.

Dean gives a small tight smile and nods goodbye to Zeke as Sam practically ushers the man out of the room, then he sinks heavily back into his bed. Zeke made it sound so simple. Latch onto the people he cared about and spill his guts. Except it wasn't that simple. Not for him, not for them. Because every time he latched onto someone to save himself…he pulled them under. And spilling his guts, when had that ever ended well? When had that not ended with Sam wearing that anguished guilty look like Sam thought he was somehow personally responsible for the crap Dean went through? And then there was that trust issue again. Yeah, he trusted Sam to not let him be Wendigo chow but trust Sam to not bail on him if Amelia called him up looking to rekindle their relationship, or if Sam's college application got accepted or when some happily ever after chance reared its head, would Sam stay then? Could he ask him to?! He knew he shouldn't even want Sam to stay.

And that was the worst of it. Wanting Sam to stay with him, to live this crappy life at his side…its nearly as bad, as selfish as the times he had wanted Sam with him in Purgatory.

SNSNSNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN

"Sam, I'm sorry if I crossed the line back there," Zeke apologizes as the two man flank the hospital hallway.

"No, you're fine," Sam dismisses but he's stalking ahead, wants to shove Zeke into an elevator and get back to Dean.

But Zeke corners him by the bank of elevators, reaches out, snags his arm as he punches the down button and gets into his personal space. "It's going to take time, Sam."

"I know," Sam briskly agrees, wanting to head Zeke's pep talk off at the pass.

"I didn't just break out the war stories around the dinner table," Zeke stubbornly continues, needs Sam to see what's ahead of him is a marathon not a sprint. "I had to have faith that …that I wouldn't scar my family, my friends with the crap I'd seen and done. That they wouldn't look at me differently, love me less for having been afraid…for taking lives."

Bitterly, Sam shakes his head. Then his glimmering eyes meet Zeke's. "It's not what Dean did that's standing between us, it's what I did….didn't do when he was gone and I…I can't take it back. I could have…should have gotten him out of there and I…." Sam breaks off, has to before his voice totally shreds apart on him. Looking away from Zeke, he pulls his arm from Zeke's grip and steps back, needs space, feels like there is a fissure inside of him that has been expanding every second he doesn't make things right with Dean.

Zeke, however, understands regret and failure of that magnitude too, had watched friends die and cursed himself for not coming to their rescue in Vietnam, feels that same way again today with the new losses laid at his feet. "We don't get to erase our mistakes, get back the people we failed to save. It's too late for me to save Ivan and the others."

Sam's eyes snap back to Zeke at the man's pained statement about his friends. Reminds him that Zeke is hurting right now, knows the guilt of failing someone he loves. "I'm sorry, Zeke. I shouldn't have…."

But Zeke gently cuts him off, "Sam, my point is, you can still save Dean."

Sam feels the blood leave his face at Zeke's insight into his brother, at the other man's belief that Dean is still at risk, still needs saving, still needs him to save him. And though Sam had vowed to accomplish that very thing, it is one thing for him to think it, quite another for Zeke to bluntly declare Dean broken and _assign_ him the task of _saving_ Dean. It's almost more than he can deal with.

"There's a whole lot more going on with him than physical trauma and I know you know that." Sam's worried pallor tells Zeke he doesn't need to explain further. "He needs someone to talk to or he's not going to get past this." When Sam's jaw clenches and the younger man looks away from him, it's a clear indication that talking isn't a strong point between the brothers right then.

"Course that someone doesn't have to be you, Sam. Alright? Can be someone else," Zeke amends, giving Sam an out, watches as the taller man nods his understanding but doesn't meet his eyes. "But, for what it's worth, I think it would be best, for the both of you, if that someone was you." And he almost feels like smirking when Sam's startled gaze flies to him. "Because, the way I see it, he's not the only one needing to be saved."

At that opportune moment, the elevator doors open and Zeke steps inside, gives a "Good luck Sam," and then the elevator whisks him out of the lives of the Winchesters.

Sam doesn't move, stands there coming to terms with the truth that Zeke isn't wrong. That, as much as Dean's miraculous return from Purgatory had salvaged the fragment pieces of his heart and soul, more than any future he could have had with Amelia ever could, he still doesn't feel whole. That he still feels in jeopardy of shattering apart, knows deep down that he won't truly be saved until he and Dean patch things up between them, until he is certain Dean can get past all that Purgatory scored into his soul.

And that meant he and Dean had to talk, _really talk_. About Purgatory, about how messed up and lost he had been when Dean had been gone, about how to cope with Dean's PTS, about everything that stood between them.

But the prospect of doing that, it terrifies Sam.

Because there is no guarantee, when all the talking was done, that everything would be OK between him and Dean. Knows that there is even a chance it could instead prove that there is no road back to the brotherhood they had once shared. And Sam doesn't know how to face that possible outcome.

So with a glance down the hallway that leads to Dean's room, he cowardly slips into the empty elevator before the doors closed. Just needs some time to fortify his walls, to rehearse his speech, to be prepared to defend the value of their brotherhood with his last breath.

**SNSNSNSNSNS ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Some would swear that being sheltered in the arms of an angel of the Lord should feel like safety personified but what Dean felt most….. was humiliation. And he would have shoved himself away from Cas's hold …if his arms worked, if his legs worked, if he could do more than talk and blink his eyes.

Even so, he had had enough of being pathetically dependent on the angel to remain upright, was about to order Cas to cease and desist with the bear hug and just prop his disloyally uncooperative body against a tree. Didn't care that he wouldn't even be able to hold his head up, would sit there like a friggin' discarded puppet. But at least it wouldn't bring back memories of that time when he was ten years old and his Dad held him after he'd blacked out from taking a tumble down a steep hill, thanks to a werecat.

But he didn't get the chance to order his emancipation from his guardian angel, found more than suitable distraction when Benny lowly hissed, "I hear something coming."

And that right there was the height of bad news for the trio. Because they had never been in a worst position to entertain guests. Literally. What with Benny too weak to uncoil from his fetal position on the ground, Dean doing his paralyzed shtick, and Cas looking a little peaked after his grace letting.

Instantly, all three men fell silent, ears straining to gather more information. "'Bout 4…maybe 5," Benny quietly concluded, beginning to push himself up onto his knees. But when he made a move to gain his feet, his legs revolted, crumbled on him, left him right back in the dirt where he had started his journey.

Like the tactician his father had taunt him to be, Dean assessed his men's status, noted the terrain, plotted the escape routes and gauged the strength of the enemy. Even with the enemy sight unseen, he knew they were screwed on all fronts if they didn't scramble into action soon. Which was hilarious considering scrambling didn't seem to be on the agenda for anyone but Cas.

And if you only had one working asset, you used it to its fullest potential. "Cas, help Benny get out of sight," Dean tersely ordered. And the weakest member of your party, they got the crap jobs… "I'll play bait."

There was an immediate spike of insubordination in the ranks.

"No way! Cas, get Dean out of sight," Benny counter ordered.

"Dean," Cas began his own volley of protest but Dean's terse, "Now Cas!" removed any small hope the angel harbored that Dean would rethink his "strategy." And, like a hundred times before, Cas resolved himself to obey the order of the mere human solely out of loyalty. Well, that and the fact that Dean Winchester had the uncanny ability to navigate his way through the most dire of circumstances and dragged those he cared about right along with him. '_Like he's dragging me across the whole of Purgatory to save me, rescue me_.'

"Cas, get the lead out!" Dean growled and Cas had to assume that incongruent statement implied that he should put Dean's plan into action immediately.

But it wasn't so easy for Cas to implement. It was one thing to let Dean play bait when he was feigning weakness, it was quite another when the human lay helpless in his hold, couldn't move at all, wasn't going to be faking vulnerability but was presently the embodiment of it. "Dean, I don't think…."

"Do it or we all die, Cas!" Dean bluntly predicted, felt his muscles burn as he struggled to get them to do their friggin' job, but they were on strike, were sitting this out and were making no promises to get off the picket line any time soon. So, yeah, he was definitely not going anyway.

Gritting his teeth in frustrated distaste of what he was about to do next, Cas gently levered Dean from his propped position against him. But he didn't settle his friend immediately on the ground, instead held him at arm's length, hated that, without his support, Dean's head limply dropped, that Dean couldn't even meet his eyes, reassure him that this was the only course left to them. But even he could now sense the presence of the approaching creatures. They simply didn't have time to devise a better plan.

With care, he levered Dean onto the ground, remembered to brace his friend's head so it didn't thud onto the ground and was rewarded with Dean's eye contact. He felt some measure of hope stir in him that Dean's eyes were no longer dimmed with agony but were burning with steely resolve. Because a resolute Dean was a force to be reckoned with.

"Don't show yourselves until they are all in the clearing and within a few feet of me," Dean commanded, knew that a surprise, close quarters battle had the best chance of success against an enemy blessed with superior strength and numbers. And that meant the bait had to be enticing, had to snag and hold their attention..until it was too late.

Though Cas gave a curt nod of agreement to Dean's instructions, the angel had no intention of letting anything draw close enough to Dean to even touch him, not in the wholly vulnerable state his friend was in. Giving Dean's shoulder a squeeze like he had seen Sam do a number of times, he committed himself to leaving Dean, stood up to start that process. And instantly swayed on his feet.

"Cas?" Dean worriedly called out when the angel stumbled.

Locking his knees, Cas fortified his stance and looked down at Dean with chagrin. "I think expelling some of my grace has weakened me."

On the ground a few feet away, Benny sardonically muttered, "More bad news. Why doesn't that shock me," as he struggled again to rise, achieved it, just barely. Neither Dean nor the angel remarked aloud that a light wind would probably topple the vampire right over.

Accepting that Dean hadn't been wrong when he thought the vampire in need of assistance, Cas headed for Benny. Though he didn't deem it helpful to note to his companions that his own motor skills were slightly compromised, it did make the trek across the small distance take longer than it should. Calculated that, had he been ten seconds quicker in reaching Benny's side, he and the vampire could have been hidden before the five humanoids sighted them and hastened their pace through the trees.

Their visitors looked human but Dean knew that only he was the genuine article in Purgatory. Though there were no obvious clues like fangs, claws, or peeling skin, there were subtle ones: the caked dirt they were sporting on their clothing and hair, that they reeked of the perfume of Purgatory: blood. And then there was the blood staining their chins and lips that didn't seem to be theirs. '_Ghouls_,' Dean surmised with revulsion, had come to hate the grave robbers after the whole Adam thing, then there had been his own close call with their kind, thanks to Samuel. So, yeah, running into them on a good day sucked. '_And today's definitely not a good day.' _Because being on the ground like a buffet all laid out for them, so not the message he wanted to send, made him try again to get his body to do his bidding, all without one ounce of triumph.

Not sure what they were up against but knowing there was no such thing as a happy pickup game of anything here,Cas and Benny closed in ranks until they were shoulder to shoulder, aiming to create an indomitable barrier between the monsters and Dean. Then they waited for their five opponents to make their move.

Though the ghouls came to a stop a few yards away, there was a hungry look in their eyes that heightened when they smelled something rare and unexpected in the sour air. With a smile that showed rotting teeth, the oldest man in the group of three men and two woman spoke, "Look children, we won't even have to run our food to ground today." Then the paternal ghoul stepped to his left, noted that the strange being in the trench coat mirrored his actions, was trying to deny him access to the treat that was lying on the ground a few feet from where he was. "But I have dibs on him," he announced, pointing to the motionless human, felt his mouth already salivating at the prospect of gorging himself on human organs.

Cas opened his mouth to refute the monster's belief that he would be allowed to harm Dean, but didn't get a chance to utter a word before he found the five creatures charging forward, wielding branches, crude knives and displaying little to no strategy. But he soon learned that, what they lacked in planning, they made up for in savagery, didn't hold back from biting, scratching, kicking, to wage their attack.

A useless spectator, Dean could only watch as three ghouls teamed up against Cas while the other two sighted their unwanted attention on Benny. He growled in frustrated rage as he saw Benny's opponents duck under the arc of his friend's knife and tackle the vampire to the ground even as Cas wielded a branch to keep his group at bay but wasn't quick enough to avoid the slash of a knife that tore through the shoulder of his jacket and the shirt underneath.

Pissed to find himself once again exiled to the ground that he just managed to crawl from minutes before, Benny dug his claws into the man's chest and held the woman's wrist, forestalling the downward plunge of the branch she held. But he let out a vampiric cry of pain as a knife scored across his chest, courtesy of the male monster. But he instantly retaliated, sank his fangs deep into one of his opponent's closest limb, which turned out to be the woman's arm. She let out a scream and, with the instincts of a wounded animal, tried to pull her arm free, no matter the consequences. Her fellow ghoul retreated back only far enough to free himself of the vampire's claws that impaled into his chest then he dodged forward, delivered a vicious punch to Benny's cheek, causing the vampire to lose his grip on the prize snared between his teeth. Then other blows rained down on him from both his opponents, kicks, punches to his torso, and a powerful, jaw bruising blow that left him dazed and his lip bleeding.

The angel wasn't faring much better. Though he managed to raise his branch in time to block the female ghoul's downward arc of her own branch, he stumbled under the assault, struggled to not let the bridge of crossed branches descend on his head. Deciding to use his seeming vulnerable position to his advantage, he slipped under the bridge of clashing branches and sent a kick into the second ghoul's chest, sending him toppling backwards. Ripping his branch free, he swung right, hoping to deflect the assault he sensed was coming from the leader of the group. But even as he spun around, he knew he was moving too slowly, was too spent, that his weakness was about to have dire consequences, not only for him but for Dean as well.

The red hot agony that burst from his side confirmed his worst suspicions. Numbly, he looked down to the knife blade buried in his side up to its hilt. Moaned as the ghoul yanking it free of his side as viciously as he had sank it into his flesh. Knew the answer to the question he had wondered at all this time: he was not impervious to harm here, and not just from Leviathans.

"Nnnnoooo!" Dean shouted as he helplessly watched the head ghoul plunge his knife into Cas' side. Had no delusions that the angel was invulnerable to the blade, not when he could read the agony on his friend's features even from this distance. Then, to his horror, Cas collapsed to his knees, blood already marring the once immaculate trench coat.

Eyes darting to track Benny's plight, Dean saw that the vampire was fighting fang and claws to deny the ghouls their treat. But he didn't have the strength to throw them off of him, could not hope to beat them, weak as he was.

With sick clarity, Dean knew his friends were about to die in front of him, _because_ of him, because he had had his head up his butt thinking about the portal, about getting back to Sam, had walked into a friggin' caterpillar trap. Which had led to Benny getting dosed with paralyzing venom and Cas being forced to piss away some of his grace, all to save his worthless life. And now their loyalty to him, it was about to cost them everything.

It just reinforced what Dean feared all along. That even in a land of monsters, he was a desecration, would only bring death to those around him.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

TBC

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Thanks for everyone still reading this chapter after the month long wait and for all the encouragement I've gotten from your so generous reviews to keep the story moving forward. And Ok, I couldn't pass on taking a last opportunity to put the Purgatory gang into jeopardy. (I'm such a bad girl!)

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	19. Chapter 19: Everybody Loses

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's note: Little heads up that the Purgatory scenes are a little harsh because no one's having any fun there but the ghouls.

SNSNSNSN

Chapter 19: Everybody Loses

SNSNSNSN

_Rule # 19: Sooner or later, everybody loses but being alive long enough to reap the unholy consequences of defeat, that's the fate of the wretched._

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

Dean violently jerks awake, can still hear the echo of his shouted "No!" reverberating in the room over his heaving breaths, feels the dampness in his sweat soaked hair and the pounding of his heart in his chest. Takes a moment to come back to the here and now, to remember he's not in Purgatory, that it's not trees rimming his perimeter but walls and medical equipment. And there is no Cas and Benny. On a bright note, there are no ghouls either.

Cursing, he raises a trembling hand to cover his eyes. Doesn't know when this will stop…if it will stop. If this is what crazy feels like. To be caught up between the memories of the past and reality of the present, to not know which is real.

'_They both are_,' he viciously reminds himself, can't shove everything that happened in Purgatory under the rug, pretend it wasn't real, that the harm his actions inflicted on his friends wasn't real. It was real, all too real.

He had backed them into that corner, his actions, his inactions, his _stupidity_ had put them there. His dogged need to get back to Sam, his anticipation of that reunion had been the stumbling block….not only to him but to Cas, to Benny. '_Just like it's to Sam_.' Because Sam, he suffered bitter consequences for Dean's "devotion," to him.

If Dean had only stayed away, could only just stay away from Sam…where would his little brother's life be right now?! Dean can't help but think of the Djinn's world, Sam with Jessica, so happy, so…._safe_. And if it that weren't meant to be, there were a thousand other happily-ever-afters Sam had had…and let slip through his fingers. For him, because he never left Sam on his own, because he couldn't bear to be alone, because it didn't seem much of a life without his brother.

But he had let Benny go, had broken ties with the vampire. For Benny's own good. Because he valued Benny's life. '_How can I do any less for Sam, my own friggin brother_?!' Because Sam's life with him….it was only going to get Sam killed…again. Especially now, with his melon screwed up, with him slipping off to let's-remember-when-monsters-roamed- the-earth at any given moment. And if that wasn't bad enough, he knew he wasn't just a physical danger to Sam. No, he was heaping more sins on his brother's soul, driving Sam to stain his hands further with innocent blood…like Mac, Ivan and Vicki's. Three people, albeit crazy as a loon and callous as a politician, that his brother had let die, for him, to save him.

He startles as knuckles wrap on a door, drops his hand to see a nurse standing there. "Ok, if I come in to check your vitals?" the sixty-something, grey haired woman asks with a tender, almost sympathetic smile.

"Yeah," Dean replies, embarrassed at how husky his voice comes out and suspicious that the nurse hadn't just arrived there, had been there to see him jerk awake.

Her hands are cold on his sweat soaked skin as she checks the IV site on his hand. He watches as she looks up to the monitor beside his bed and he can't tell if she likes the findings or not. Hating the silence, he breaks it with a flirty, "So, how am I doing? How soon can I get back to my world tour and adoring fans?"

The woman who is old enough to be his grandmother gives him an encouraging smile she probably bestows on her ten year old grandson when he tells her he is going to be a pro ball player. "You'll be up and about before you know it. And something tells me your fans will wait for you."

Dean can't help snorting at the woman's placating methods but he finds himself smirking. "You're good," he praises, enjoys the talents of a fellow con artist.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she retorts, "I know."

Then they both turn as a noise comes from the vacant visitor's chair in the room, the one Sam had made his home.

Turning, the nurse scoops the ringing cell phone up. "Here's one of your fans now," she teases as she helpfully clicks to accept the call before it goes to voice mail and hands it off to Dean. Then with a wave, she's out of the room, leaving Dean there, holding a phone that's not his. Is Sam's.

Not sure what to do, knowing it could be Sam, checking up on him because he had been MIA…well, Dean honestly doesn't know how long his brother's been gone. So he answers with a vague, "Yeah."

He doesn't immediately recognize the woman's voice that begins to ramble in his ear.

"I know we agreed that if we didn't both go to the motel, it was over and I said we couldn't keep changing our minds and I'm into stalker territory here but…" Only then does she seem to take a breath. "…I can't stop wanting to go back to what we had."

_Amelia_. Dean suddenly feels cold all over. Amelia was offering Sam a second chance. To be with her. To leave him. Knows he should announce that he's not Sam or simply hang up but he doesn't want her thinking Sam had hung up on her, had refused her offer. '_Because he might not. Maybe shouldn't_.' Because if the roles were reversed, if Lisa had given him a second chance after the whole vampire thing had passed….

His throat so closed off that it feels like a hand's crushing it, Dean struggles for nonchalance as he finally speaks. "Ah, sorry. Sam's not around right now."

For a beat, only silence comes back to him. And then Amelia's words are again flowing in a breathless wave. "Oh my gosh, you must think … Wait. Who are you? Why do you have Sam's phone?" Worry and indignation making her last two questions sharp.

Not wanting to counter what Sam had told her about him, especially the part about him being _dead_, Dean goes with a non-committal, "I'm a friend of Sam's. He's out running an errand and forgot to take his phone with him."

"So he's not there…isn't just avoiding my call?" she suspiciously asks before she quickly commands, "Don't answer that. You must think I'm stalking him or…You know what, why am I justifying my actions to you? If you were any kind of friend of Sam's, you would have been there for him after his brother died. But Sam never got any calls, never went out for drinks with anyone. What did you say your name was?" Amelia poses like a grade A interrogator.

Trying to avoid putting another lie out there, Dean doesn't respond to her inquisition, says instead, "Sam will be back soon. And I won't say you called but….he'll want to hear what you have to say, needs to hear it. So…call him back later, say what you just said."

Surprise and hope vibrates though Amelia's reply, "You really think he'll want to talk to me?" Hope that she could hear Sam's voice again, even if it is Sam denying her what she wants. And Dean can't blame her for that, for knowing what a gift it is to have Sam in her life, in _their _lives. A gift he repaid with nothing good, with all heartbreak and no joy.

And it's almost the hardest thing he's ever had to choke out but he does it anyways, because Sam deserves the choice, the chance for safety, maybe even happiness. "He'll want to talk to you, Amelia."

"Ok, I'm…I'll call back. Thanks," she replies with an echo of gratitude.

Then their first and probably last conversation is over and Dean's hand closes tightly around the phone, threatens to crush it. Inhaling a sharp breath, he forces his fingers to unclench as he begins to contemplate the future, the one without Sam in it. The one without even Benny or Cas in it. The one with him all alone.

SNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSN

When Sam makes his reappearance, Dean's waiting for him, barely lets him cross the room's threshold before he says, "Thought you left."

Trying not to read accusation into his brother's greeting, Sam calmly counters with a convenient half-truth that's easier than confessing he's scared spitless that this won't last, them together, that he'll say or do something wrong. "Just had to go to the motel, grab my laptop."

"Checking to see if your college application's been accepted?" Dean challenges, no sign of teasing in his pale expression or the eyes that pin Sam where he stands stalled, midway between the door and his brother's hospital bed.

And for all that Sam knows he deserves that, it doesn't stop him from flinching.

Embarrassed at his sneer, Dean drops his eyes from Sam's, knows it's not fair to taunt Sam, not when all Sam wants to do is be safe. '_Which he'll never be around me. Just ask Cas and Benny…or Mom, Dad, Bobby, Rufus, Jo, Ellen, Pam, Ben, Lisa. The list could probably trace back to the kid I kicked a ball around with in grade school, probably managed to screw his life up somehow too_.' Because it was a proven fact: there's nothing but pain in store for anyone crazy enough to tie themselves to him.

Once, years ago, he had known the right thing to do: Let Sam go. Let Sam walk out the door and go to Stanford. '_It shouldn't be this hard to do that again_.' To be that selfless, for Sam, because Sam's safety, it is the thing that Dean cares about most, would always care about.

Picking Sam's cellphone off his lap, he manages a weak, but on target toss to Sam, who deftly catches it. "Forgot your phone. That why you came back?"

And for the life of him, Sam doesn't know what happened in the forty five minutes he's been gone. Because, he could have sworn, when he left, Dean actually _liked_ him, wasn't contemplating fratricide. And now, that's practically a foregone conclusion if he leaves the next few moments up to Dean's planning.

Since sometimes bluntness is the only way through Dean's steel walls, Sam demands, "What's wrong with you? I leave for a while and now you're pissed at me." But at the jump in Dean's jaw, he sighs, knows it isn't fair, getting angry at Dean when it's evident his brother's in pain, is frustrated by his weakness, not to mention he just had to deal with Zeke's emotional fallout over his friends' deaths. That knowledge, coupled with what the nurse had told him on his way back to Dean's room, has him chastising himself for nearly losing his temper. Exhaling, empathy returning to the forefront of his emotions, his next words come out soft, "The nurse said you had another episode."

"_Episode_," Dean indignantly repeats, feeling a little betrayed by the nurse ratting him out to Sam. "Is that what we're calling it now?! It wasn't an _episode_, or a temper tantrum or a psychotic break, it was a bad dream, Sam. That's. All."

"Dream or memory?" Sam quietly inquires, forcing himself to not shy away from Dean's startled then hurt gaze. Because if he doesn't start making inroads to Dean opening up to him, he fears the way will become impassable to him, maybe even to Dean, who has a fantastic track record of entombing himself, with all his pain locked right in there with him.

Dean feels caught out in the open with Sam's perceptiveness. And though there is absolutely no judgment in Sam's eyes, what's there twists his gut: understanding. Worry. But even more so, there's a desire to protect him. And that's worse than all the rest, leads, not to just a bad turn of events, but to death and destruction. Condemnation. Just ask his Dad or Jo…oh wait, you can't. Because they had died trying to protect him, save him.

Sam could ask Benny and Cas. They could attest to how things went down when they put their lives on the line for him. Could…if he hadn't given Benny his walking paper and Cas hadn't flown off to parts unknown after Alfie's death. And it hadn't escaped his notice that neither spent any time protesting leaving him this time, had both showcased more sense than they did in Purgatory. So who said a human couldn't teach an angel and a vampire common sense?!

He doesn't realize he's zoned out until he blinks, sees Sam's transported to his side, has a hand on his shoulder, is repeating his question, this time amped with discernible worry. "Dean, hey, was it a dream or memories? Maybe if you tell me about…."

"I'm fine," Dean bluntly cuts across his brother's too soft tone and drops his shoulder under Sam's hand as if he's trying to skitter out from the physical contact.

Dean's denial, Dean's sudden aversion to his touch, it sparks a well of anger in Sam. "Yeah, you're just great," he darkly drawls, his sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood. But it's desperation that chokes his next entreaty. "Dean, why don't you just…talk to me, man. Why do you have to wait until you're at your breaking point before you talk to me?!"

But Dean's whiplash retort is anything but yielding. "A lecture about opening up from the guy who didn't tell me about his visions way back when, his blood addition, or his hell hallucinations?! No, Sam, you don't get to tell me to open up when you're crap at doing it." Which is followed by a twisted hostile smile. "But then again, it's not like you trust me."

For a moment, Sam's lost track of the argument because, seriously, isn't it Dean's trust in him that's in question. He makes his comeback in a squawk of surprise, "What?! I trust you."

Dean's eyebrow arches in objection. "Really? Because you're still keeping secrets from me."

"No, I'm not," Sam fervently swears even before he understands the origin of Dean's accusation. Then it hits him: Zeke's survival. Stepping closer to Dean, he denies, "No, no, Dean I had no clue Zeke wasn't dead. None."

"I'm talking about the distress signal, something you never mentioned to me," Dean stonily corrects Sam's conjecture, waits to see Sam's reaction. But Sam's poker face stays in play, leaves him still in the dark. Frustrated, his next words ring with even greater accusation. "And, oh yeah, I saw an interesting text message from a week ago on your phone. You're having Garth try and track down Benny?! What part of, Benny's my friend, don't you get, Sam?! And come on, Garth?! Benny could take Garth out in his _sleep_."

Sam is torn between justifying his actions and apologizing for them. He had made that call to Garth when he was still in Texas. He had been reeling at the news that Martin was dead by Benny's hand and had just let Dean walk out on him. Then he spent the next hour pacing in the motel room, hurt, fury and worry coursing through him before his worry won out. Well, enough for him to put someone on Benny to make sure he knew if…when the vampire's path intersected again with Dean's. Had never quite figured out what he would do when that became the case.

But now, after the past week, after coming to see, not only how much Dean valued Benny, but some reasons why, his actions seem induced more from childish jealousy than protective instincts.

Sam's silence, it only angers Dean more. "For a guy who didn't give a crap for a solid year about the supernatural, didn't lose a wink of sleep if a nest of vamps chowed down on a whole town, you sure care a lot about one vampire's diet," Dean snidely observes.

That has Sam going rigid with fury. "Yeah, you know why that is, Dean?! Because I didn't want you to be on his menu." At Dean's look of angry denial, he speaks before Dean can. "That's why it was my idea to handcuff you to the radiator after Martin knocked you out." Though Dean's face contorts in outrage, Sam is the first one to point an accusing finger at his brother. "You refused to be objective! You were going to protect Benny, even if he did kill those people. You left me no choice, Dean!" Silently he qualifies, '_Not if I wanted to keep you safe, not if I didn't want to just let Benny steal my own brother away from me.'_

Dean nods sagely but there's raw condemnation in his words. "No choice. Like you had no choice but to write me off, put me in your rearview mirror and start your happily ever after." Giving a bitter snort, he shakes his head. "I wish I had your ability to easily turn my back on people, would save me a lot of heartache." But more importantly, he knows that trait would have saved so many lives. If he had just walked away, had done what Sam had, gotten out, gone away, walked as far away as he could because, Sam might have had the tainted blood, but he was the one cursed.

Sam is wholly unprepared to be under attack again for his actions, not when Dean had given him absolution. '_In the forest…when he was dying and delirious,' _he clarifies_, _suddenlyrecognizing the extenuating circumstances in which Dean's forgiveness had been granted.'_Idiot, it was a dying man making peace, wasn't something Dean expected to have to live up to, to actually look at you every day after and just pretend what you did no longer mattered, hadn't hurt him, soul deep. But it did and you have to make that right somehow. If Dean lets you_.' Sam starts out with a stammering, "Dean I …."

But Dean's apparently heard it all before.

"Yeah, the girl, the dog, the life you always wanted," Dean ticks off, as if it's an idiotic and boring tally of wishes, pretends that he doesn't understand Sam's attachment to all of it.

And grimly, Sam realizes that is all Dean's going to see. The idyllic life he had taunted Dean with since his brother's return. The never subtle declarations about that being the life he wanted to get back to, seemingly valued a whole lot more than he did the one he shared with Dean. Lies, all of them. He didn't even tell Dean about Amelia's husband, that his happily ever after, it was a sham on all fronts. Was over even before he knew Dean was alive, back. Had bragged about going back to a life that wasn't even on the table for him to reclaim…not until Dean sent him on that wild goose chase back to Amelia, not until she offered him another chance to have that future together.

But he didn't choose her. He chose Dean.

So why couldn't Dean accept that?! Why couldn't Dean see that nothing mattered more to him than he did. That he had been _terrified_ of losing him all over again, had done everything he could, everything he had to, in order to keep him alive, with him. But if Dean couldn't get over the past, couldn't grasp what even strangers could, that he treasured his brother, where did that leave him, them? "If you're not going to forgive me, let me tell my side…" he hoarsely begins, is meet with Dean's unblinking stare. He shifts on his feet before he croaks out the rest. "I mean, if you're not even going to talk to me about Purgatory, why did you even ask me to stay with you, Dean?!"

"I didn't," Dean coldly corrects, forcing himself to not flinch, to not give one _hint_ of just how hard this is for him. "I told you to go be with Amelia, Sam. I told you to go and don't ever look back."

At Dean's unvarnished retelling, Sam's breath catches, but he doesn't notice. Not when his world is crumbling around him. "You…you didn't mean it, not really." Because this isn't how he saw things going, not after the past few days, not after fighting, pleading, begging in that forest to not lose Dean all over again and being granted his wish.

"Didn't I?" Dean unemotionally challenges. He can't be weak, not now. Not when he's a liability to everyone around him. Sam had committed near murder to save him, proof enough that, if he stays with Sam, he will only further taint Sam's soul. No, he's no good for anyone. Cas was right, to seek penance, to exact his own punishment on himself. And this is to be his: To be alone. To make sure no one else gets hurt trying to save him. Enough people had already paid that price too often, Sam more than once.

Sam's face screws up into anguished pain. "No, Dean, I know you…."

"I don't think you do, Sam!" he harshly contradicts because Gordon was right about him, Mac too. Just under the surface, there was something evil vying to be let loose. That part of him that enjoyed inflicting pain, taking lives.

But Sam's not getting the point, is still standing there, features tight with zealous denial, looking unlikely to leave.

So Dean makes a silent vow to make him leave.

"I called Benny to come pick me up," he lies outright, does it because it is for the best. "You probably don't want to be around when he gets here."

And it's wrong that anger isn't the prominent emotion pouring off of Sam, that grief and pain are, that his brother's eyes are welling. So he jerks his head toward the door, commands, "Just go Sam."

That at last evokes anger in his brother. Unleashing a venomous curse, Sam violently strikes out and flips the sterile tray over before he stalks out the door, leaves him alone.

Just like he wants, right?!

But Dean's not that delusional, knows it's the last thing he wants, to be alone, to have Sam gone. Nevertheless, he's not going to call Sam back to his side, will just endure the loneliness. And it's cold comfort to know he's doing the right thing, is ensuring that no one else he cares about will be in danger because of his crappy luck. That what happened in Purgatory won't have a repeat.

**SNSNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Considering Cas no longer a threat to his clan, the paternal ghoul left his wounded prey to the tender mercies of his children and did a lazy bold stride to the prize of all prizes. It didn't escape his notice that the human made no move to scamper away, in fact, did not move, at all, not a leg, not a finger. Coming to a stop, he looked down at the human at his feet, found that defiance blazed in the green eyes boring into his.

When the ghoul's eyes raked down the length of his body, Dean wasn't sure if he was being measured for leftovers or if the ghoul was simply inspecting his prize. "Find something you like?" he bit out, because his first instinct when vulnerable was always to goad, to show his opponent that he wasn't going to beg. At least not for his own life.

"Oh yes," the ghoul drawled with merry anticipation with a flash of his filthy, blood stained teeth again. Then he sank to a crouch at Dean's side and ran his fingers down Dean's face. His carcass generated a threat in the man's eyes but absolutely no physical retaliation. "Can't move, huh?" he smirked, knew some of the inhabitants, even here, didn't have the stomach for taking a kill savagely, liked to paralyze their victim so they didn't struggle when they ended their life.

He, on the other hand, was disappointed. He loved a fighting, terrified meal, made the meat all the move savory, to know he took what was so not willingly offered. Slipping his hand off the human's face, he knew he didn't want to rush this, wanted to enjoy every moment, every morsel because who knew if this delicacy would ever come his way again.

Waiting for the eating to begin, Dean tracked the ghoul's every move, tried to interpret his expression, wasn't prepared when the ghoul sank his knife, not into him, but into the ground beside him, within his reach…if he could move. The ghoul's cruel chuckle told him that the monster enjoyed taunting him with hope, false as it was.

"Can't reach it, huh?" the ghoul jeered as he removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, planned on getting elbow deep in his meal at some point. Then he retrieved the knife from the ground and pressed it under the human's chin. The man couldn't stiffen in fear but his eyes spoke volumes…but fear wasn't the best seller – hatred was. But he could work with that. "My last meal on earth was a coroner and his memories have taught me to appreciate the simplicity of the Y incision of an autopsy," he shared as he slowly trailed the knife down the human's neck to the top of his sternum.

"Yeah? Well, do one on yourself and I'll critique you," Dean glibly suggested even as he fought down an internal shiver of fear. Funny that, for all the times he had died, he had never made it to the morgue, never had the pleasure of a Y incision…until now.

The ghoul laughed in spike of himself. "A meal with a sense of humor. Nice." Then he leaned closer and Dean choked on his putrid breath. "But I really am more of a horror fan than a comedy person, prefer screams renting the air."

Afraid the ghoul's words were the preamble to a killing blow to Dean, Cas struggled to regain his feet amid his agony but even as he was victorious, two ghouls seized onto him, arresting his progress to Dean. "Leave him alone!" he commanded with his angelic hell-and-brimstone timbre.

But Dean and his ghoul didn't even acknowledge the angel's outrage.

"That's a bit morbid but I guess you really are what you eat," Dean volleyed back, didn't blink but held the ghoul's gaze unflinchingly because screw him.

Something akin to eagerness sparked in the ghoul's eyes. "Yes, and soon I'll be you." Then with sick gentleness, he opened Dean's jacket up and slid Dean's shirts up to expose the human's chest. "We'll start slow, so we can both enjoy it," he reassured right before he skillfully cut into the first layer of skin, drew blood from Dean's shoulder across to his breastbone.

"NO!" Benny shouted in fury as he shoved away the ghouls pinning him to the ground and staggered to his feet. But he had gone only three steps toward Dean before he was tackled to the ground. He let out a surprised cry of pain as a knife blade pierced his back of his shoulder.

Cas' attempts to reach Dean, to prevent his friend from suffering more pain were similarly put down with brute strength. But even as the ghouls rested a knife at his throat, he furiously growled to the ghoul torturing Dean. "Let him go!" Silently vowing to bring all the wrath bottled up inside him to bear on the ghoul if he took Dean's life. Would resurrect himself if he had to, so he could see vengeance done.

Without looking up from his work, Dean's ghoul cautioned, "Tell your friends to keep it down. I'ld hate for the knife to slip." Apparently thought an example was in order because he put greater pressure on the knife as he drew it across Dean's other shoulder.

Burning pain trailed along the knife's path across Dean's chest and Dean fought back an agonized cry. Hated that he was nearly panting when the knife was withdrawn, watched in sick dread as the ghoul licked his blood off the knife. Found himself wishing that there was enough caterpillar venom still cursing through his veins to infect the ghoul but he didn't hold out much hold.

"I almost forgot how good that is," the ghoul said with pleased awe. Sampling more of the human's blood, he groaned in pleasure like Dean would after the first bite of pie.

There was no way to smother his fear, not when Dean knew what was to come. Sure, it wouldn't be as bad as Hell because he wouldn't be put back together again only for the torture to start all over again. Would die…but not anytime soon, thanks to the ghoul's lexicon of medical know how. But his fear wasn't all about his life ending, was about what might come before that: Cas and Benny dying. And maybe him breaking. Because, let's face it, it wasn't unprecedented.

Closing his eyes as the ghoul started where his first two cuts crisscrossed and drew the blade down his chest, Dean could almost hear Alistair's mocking voice.

"O_h, don't worry. If I haven't scratched that itch, I will. I have all of eternity to find it."_

_Then he could hear his own scream echoing, carrying half way across Hell._

Eyes flying open, breath heaving, Dean prayed that he didn't give the ghoul the satisfaction of getting a scream out of him. There was no echo of it, no rawness in his throat but there was shouting. Benny and Cas' voices were renting the air, heaping threats on the ghouls as they helplessly watched the blood welling on Dean's chest now down to his navel.

Shooting a look over his shoulder at the human's incensed friends, the ghoul turned his bloody lips up into a smile. "Don't worry. Just light surface cuts so afar. I need to see if he's tender or tough."

"I'm better with salt," Dean helpfully supplied, earning him the ghoul's full attention again. "I'll wait here while you go grab some."

The ghoul chuckled. "Again that fearlessness. Seems like there's little hope you'll beg for mercy. That's a shame because that's my favorite dinner conversation."

"Guess it's true what they say, that dinner conversations aren't what they used to be," Dean retorted, more resolved than ever to not give the ghoul what he wanted.

For a moment, the ghoul simply looked down at Dean, contemplating but then a sure smug smile emerged. "Maybe we need to engage our other guests into the conversation. I'm not all that hard to please. If you won't beg for your own life…maybe you'll beg for your friends' lives. Well, or at least their quick deaths."

And Dean could hear scuffling out of his limited line of vision, could envision the ghouls holding Cas and Benny preparing to go in for the kill. And though his fear spiked into the red haze of terror, Dean fought to keep himself locked down, knew it would do Cas and Benny no good if he faltered under the threat. So he gave the ghoul a condescending smirk, "Maybe you missed the sign at the town limits. This is Purgatory, not high school. Nobody has friends here. So go ahead, have your way with them. And I hope you do it slow. Means more time for me to regain movement, take your knife away from you and shove it where the sun don't shine."

Stunned by the human's callousness, the leader almost changed his plans, useless as they seemed now. Until he realized that, even if the human wasn't affected by his companion's agony, he himself still wanted to witness it. They had had little chance to actually prep their food of late and he missed the finesse of entertainment before a meal.

"Bring them here," he commanded even as his gaze remained locked on the human's, hoping to detect a flickering of worry for his companions. But none showed, instead the human's eyes grew darker, eclipsed whatever meager light he thought he had detected before.

Benny and Cas didn't struggle as they were pulled to their feet and prodded forward. At least they were heading in the right direction, toward Dean. Then they were forced to their knees side by side. The good news was they were nearly close enough to touch Dean. The bad news, well more bad news was, the head ghoul was still kneeling at Dean's side, bloody knife in hand, effectively blocking their way to their friend.

As foolish as it was, Dean couldn't help but let his eyes stray to his best friends. Could sell that heartless lie to the Ghoul Master but didn't want Cas and Benny to believe it for a second, not when it might be the last thing shared between them. Needed them to know how friggin' sorry he was for what was about to happen to them.

Benny understood Dean's ploy, would have even played along with it, if Dean didn't level that broken look at him. Like he thought this was on him, them being invited to this BBQ. Unconcerned about what their present company would think, he smirked at the man he loved like a brother. "We had a good run, brother. Don't regret any of it." Hated that his words didn't ease Dean's guilt but only added pain to his friend's too expressive gaze. As if suspecting that his weakness was visible to one and all, Dean closed his eyes, shut himself off and him out.

"Dean," Cas called out, prompting Dean's eyes to open and meet his own. But then words failed the angel, like they usually did when it came to expressing his emotions.

But, like so many times before, Dean didn't need Cas to use words to convey his sentiments. With one solid sad but affectionate look, the angel gave Dean utter absolution and heaped guilt on his own shoulders for their predicament. Hated that he had failed Dean again. That this time, there seemed little hope for a resurrection, for either of them.

And though it was the angel and vampire's throats that knives were pressed to, Dean felt his own throat constrict in pain. Knew that, it would do no good to beg for his friends' lives, that Benny and Cas were going to die anyway. That their's was probably as easy a death as Purgatory ever bestowed on its inhabitants, one deft slice of a knife and their pain would be over. That didn't stop him from wanting to do everything in heaven and hell to save them.

But they weren't in heaven where grace was granted and they weren't in hell where deals were made.

No, they were in Purgatory, where only the strong survived to see another day.

When Dean's eyes widen in revelation, Cas, no matter his dire situation, found himself hopeful that his friend had not conceded to defeat just yet, for any of them. But Dean's words were not the encouraging ones he expected.

"Cas, this is all on you," Dean indicted, nearly winced at the flinch that coursed through Cas at his accusation. "Never could keep your _big mouth_ shut. If you'd done less talking and more action, we would have been long gone from here. But no, you're always Mr. Doom and Gloom, predicting we wouldn't make it, like the friggin' sky was gonna fall in on us at any movement."

Cas' head tilted in confusion. Yes, he did hesitate to leave Dean's side to go to Benny and his delay had cost them the element of surprise. And it was true, he hadn't ever estimated their chances for survival very highly but to bring that up now seemed futile. "Dean, I am sorry if my pessimistic attitude in any way led to this."

It took a moment but Benny figured out Dean's new play and it was a crazy one. But he had come to appreciate the man's knack for making crazy work for him. But Cas? Benny nearly sighed at the angel's ignorance at Dean's over the top hints. Shouldn't the angel be able to follow Dean logic? I mean he'd been his guardian angel for years, couldn't he predict a do or die move coming from Dean a mile away.

Knowing he had to spell it out better for the angel, Dean growled, "Just stop with the angel crap, Cas! Stop shielding. Just, for once, say what you mean. You're pissed at me because you know this is all my fault. Not just you about to be a ghoul meal but you being in Purgatory. You shoulda sided with Dick and his friends." Then he leveled a meaningful look to Cas and commanded, "You should maybe do that now."

And it was lunacy, what Cas perceived Dean was asking him to do. To drop his shielding, to let the Leviathans know where he was, to come, not only to kill him but Dean and Benny, who were both unable to defend themselves. It would mean all of their deaths.

But Dean's look was imploring, was asking him to trust him, one last time.

And Cas remembered every death he had died, that each one had come about because he sought to save the human soul that he had pulled from hell. Risked everything because that soul was worthy of his sacrifice, because the man was his friend, because Dean deserved his loyalty. None of that had changed.

"They are coming," Cas somberly announced, eyes holding Dean's, marveling at the misplaced relief in his human friend's gaze.

Beside him, Benny cursed and muttered under his breath, "I like ring side seats but this ain't gonna be pretty."

Then six Leviathans were raining down from the sky.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading. And love to all my wonderfully supportive reviewers! You guys make my day!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	20. Chapter 20: Being Alone

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 20: Being Alone

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_Rule # 20: The only thing worse than being defenseless is being alone. _

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

Being alone sucked. It's not a new revelation to Dean but it's still as true as the first time he discovered it.

It feels even more painfully accurate when he realizes that he can't get his shoes on, well, not unless he wants to do a swan dive off the bed. That he can't even slip his feet into the shoes, not when trying that seemingly uncomplicated move spikes pain throughout his whole nervous system.

So shoeless is the way things are gonna go down.

And he's already sweated through his button down shirt just expending the energy to get on said shirt and his jeans. Drolly he thinks how his keen sense of fashion is really taking a hit. Then he slips off the bed, comes to a stand. Instantly the room spins and he's afraid that he's going to add puke to his wardrobe's faux pas. Slamming his eyes closed, he wills his stomach to play nice, even as he sways on his feet, appreciates when a shuffle back has his legs bumping into the bed, gives him an anchor in the darkness, not to mention a landing place other than the floor. Because collapsing, it seems probable.

'_I can do this_,' goes on repeat in his head, more desperation than determination in the vow. '_I have to do this_' because there's a chance that Sam might actually circle back to him. And even if he doesn't, the doctor's already had a "colleague" chat with him, a colleague with a psychiatric degree. So it won't be that long before they sign him over to the wacko ward for "observation" for PTSD.

Yeah, not happening.

So getting gone is the only option left to him.

If he can manage to not pass out.

Rubbing a trembling hand over his forehead to swipe away the gathered sweat is his preemptive move. Then he gathers his fortitude, marshals his strength, what there is of it, and executes the plan. First step of that is opening his eyes, second, not puking and third, though it shouldn't pain him as much as it does, he abandons his favorite shoes, ok, his _only_ shoes. Knows if he can't get the shoes _on_, bending over to retrieve them off the floor is just as impossible.

Another casualty of another holy cause.

'Course it wouldn't be so meaningless if he knew where this cause of his was leading. _Closing the gates of Hell?_ Uh hun…sounds….awesome. Probably a pipe dream. Or worse, doable…if he doomed half the population, because no good deed goes unpunished. Really. He had that on good authority, his own. But he just convinces himself, whatever the cost to himself, he will do it. Will do the right thing to pay penance for all the wrong things he had done, for all the wrong things that had gone down without his say so, for all the people he had gotten killed.

But he isn't seeking forgiveness for the people or the monsters he had wasted. No, it had been his choice to take a life, each and every time. There shouldn't be any penance able to wipe his slate clean of those sins.

Mac had maybe said it best: _"You pretend the kill is about protecting others but it's just about the violence. You like ending the life of a living being."_

Course Gordon had put in his two cents about him_: _"_We understand that…sometimes…to kill the monster you have to become the monster." _

And he hadn't even denied his monster status to Gordon, had instead embraced it. "_Oh I'm already way beyond the monster stage, Gordon. Redemption isn't in the cards, not for me…"_

He wasn't even fooling Kevin who had concluded that people he doesn't need any more end up dead.

But what Sam thought of him before he even _knew_ much about his actions in Purgatory, that told him everything he didn't want to hear: '_Maybe you don't need me. Maybe you're at your best hacking and slicing through the world's crap alone, not having to explain yourself to anybody_.'

If your own brother, in his heart of hearts, really wanted nothing to do with you, thought it best if no one was around you, that all you were capable of was handing out death?! Then what good is it to deny that he isn't getting exactly what he deserves, to be utterly alone.

With angry despondency, Dean curses and takes his first step forward then the next and the next. Does it because, for whatever reason, he isn't dead, can still do some good to save others…even if saving himself isn't an option.

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Though he had furiously stalked to the Impala, went as far as cranking on the engine, Sam couldn't go, couldn't leave Dean. Not even for the indeterminate time it would take for him to cool down, get his temper….his hurt in check.

Slamming his hands on the steering wheel, Sam curses, closes his eyes and hangs his head, feels on the verge of a breakdown. He hadn't dragged a dying Dean through miles of forest, begged and pleaded for someone to spare his brother's life to lose Dean now. To just….give up. Accept that, their brotherhood, it wasn't salvageable, was lost…because of his actions, because he let fear, no, terror reign, pushed his brother away when all Dean wanted was to know that he was glad he wasn't dead, was back with him, that they were together.

But he hadn't done that, had done the opposite. Had told Dean in a hundred different ways that he was not only ok when he was gone, but was friggin' fantastic, had all his dreams come true. That having him back, it was cause for annoyance not jubilance. And that Dean actually thinking he was going to drop everything and be his hunting partner again, that wasn't only naïve, it was ludicrous. Because, after all, he wanted his life "to count for something." Least that's what he told Dean.

Venomously cursing, he runs a trembling hand down his face. He had done this, not Dean. He had brought this chasm between them. Then had filled it with concrete so it would stick. How could he think it could be easily dismantled, especially without him coming clean, Dean knowing the truth. That he had been running scared, ever since Dean had vanished into thin air, hadn't stopped when he and Amelia settled into a house, or even when Dean had returned. Was still waking up, breathing heavy, his brother's name tramped in his throat and feeling that piercing agony of loss, of losing someone he couldn't bear to live without.

But admitting that to Dean? No way. Would have been weakness, need, would have told Dean that leaving him wasn't what he wanted, was instead what he needed to do, for his own sanity. Because Dean, he was going to die again, it was inevitable, and he couldn't be there for that. Not again.

Suddenly there is no air in the Impala and he claws at the door, falls more than climbs out of the car and then he's on the pavement, is leaning against the car's frame. His brother's car. Thunking his head back against the Impala's back door, he wishes he wasn't such a coward. Wasn't the kind of guy who has his afternoon bus ticket and Stanford acceptance letter in hand before he announces his departure, leaves in the middle of the night, no note, no explanation. Just …goes. Is half gone before anyone knows he's leaving. Doesn't give anyone a chance to ask him to stay…part of him terrified that they won't, will do what Dean just did, replace him, tell him to get out, to go and stay gone.

But he knows now that, as hard as it is to leave, it's easier to be the one who leaves than the one rejected, to be in Dean's shoes, eleven years ago when he left for Stanford, and a year ago when he came back to an ungrateful little brother. To be told you're not good enough to hang around with, that he's got bigger and better things on his horizon, things that will make his life worth something. Instead of the nothing being with you gets him.

'_How do I undo that?! What I've said, what I've done!? Saving Dean's life, that isn't enough, heck, Cas and Benny had probably done that on a daily basis in Purgatory. I need to prove myself not just as Dean's hunting partner…but as his brother.'_ And that's where he always seemed to fail the most. '_Yeah, Dean believing Benny's a better brother than I've ever been pretty well proves that point.'_

And to say it hurt hearing that would be like saying getting your heart ripped out stung a bit. No, it had torn a hole right through his chest, made him want to walk away from Dean and never come back, abandon Dean to foolishly trust his vampire "brother" to save his butt over and over again, like he did. But instead he gave Dean an ultimatum, threated to kill Benny, but he didn't walk away from Dean, couldn't. Any more than he could now. Because Dean was _his_ brother, not Benny's. Was his to protect, was the person who meant the most to him in the whole wide world.

Suddenly resolve blasts away his misgivings, makes his decision clear. He wouldn't allow his brother to put his trust, his life in the hands of a vampire, because, no matter how loyal Benny was, addictions had a way of overshadowing the strongest of wills, of making you do the unthinkable, of hurting people you loved. He knew that bitter truth first hand. No, he wasn't going to let Dean go with Benny, be in danger of the vampire faltering in his proclaimed abstinence of human blood. Sure, Benny might be on the wagon now, but there was no guarantee he could stay there, that he wouldn't, against everything he wanted, make Dean his first live meal.

And Sam would die first before he let that happen, would incite Dean's wrath if he had to. That was the part of being a brother no one liked to talk about, that sometimes to save your brother, you had to royally piss him off. "Yeah, like that's something new for me," he snorts, finally feeling like he can breathe again, knew the path to take.

Pushing off the ground, he climbs to his feet, circles to the back of the car and opens the trunk. He's tucking his gun in his waistband in preparation for Benny's arrival when his phone rings, inspiring hope for an easier solution.

"Dean, let's just talk…." he opens with but a familiar but wholly unexpected woman's voice interrupts him.

"Ah, no. It's Amelia. Wait, did you say Dean?"

Stunned, Sam stammers, "Amelia…hey I didn't…" before his tone shifts to concern, "You alright?" because he can't think of any good reason why she would be breaking her own decree of 'if you leave, stay gone'.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm fine. And you…you're OK?" Amelia inquires back, even as she's silently berating herself for letting things get awkward, for not diving right in like she had the first time she called for Sam and his friend answered.

"Yeah, I'm fine. So…." Sam let the implied question hang, didn't even know how to feel about hearing her voice again when he thought he never would.

Suspecting that Sam's friend had already clued him into what she wanted, that Sam was trying to get her to beg, her tone is terse, "You know why I'm calling you, don't you."

Feeling like he's able to be called on the carpet, Sam closes the Impala trunk and leans on it as he formulates his response. Honestly, he didn't think he would have to explain his decision to not return to her. "Look, Amelia, I didn't go to the motel," he states, in case she didn't know that, in case she wasn't there either. In case this is her regretting that decision, that missed chance.

But her voice when she speaks again is quiet, a bit strangled with emotion. "I know."

Sam's eyebrows rise at the implication of her statement, that she was there at the motel, that she came. For him. Choose him. "You were? I didn't think…I thought you would…."

"Choose Don?"

"Maybe." But part of him knew it didn't matter what she chose because he had made his own choice. Had chosen Dean.

"Well I didn't choose Don. Does that change your decision?" Amelia asks, hanging on tightly to the thin strand of hope that Sam would come back to her, that things could go back the way they were before Don's return.

Part of him knows it would make his life easier to just say yes and mean it. To go with Amelia and leave Dean, like his brother seemingly wanted him to. But easier wouldn't mean better-off. How could he be if he spent every night wondering if Dean was alive or dead, worried about who was having his brother's back on the hunts, what crazy personal sacrifice Dean was willing to make to close the gates of hell?! Where would peace…happiness for him be in that equation?! Girl, dog, white picket fence verses his brother's safety?! Regardless of what Dean thinks, there is no contest.

"Amelia, I am sorry," Sam hoarsely began because, even if Dean doubted his place is at his side, he no longer did.

There's a shaking breath from the other line on the phone before Amelia's unsteady voice comes back to him, "So we're …through. Both feet out, right?"

"Yeah," Sam confirms because no matter how crappy, painful and terrifying a life of hunting was, it was the only life he truly fit into, was worth all that if he and Dean were in in together, were brothers again.

There is a choked sob that twists Sam's heart but he doesn't recant his declaration. Won't, not even for Amelia.

Then Amelia manages, "Ok, well…I guess I was hoping he was right."

"Who was right?" Sam asks in confusion, highly doubts Amelia discussed him with Don.

"Your friend. I called earlier and he answered your phone, said you would want to hear my pathetic begging," Amelia gives a forced laugh of self-contempt.

Sam straightens his stance as cold dread slips down his spine. "Wait. You talked to _my friend_. He _knew_ you called." Because that could only be Dean, meant that Dean knew she was giving him a second chance.

"Yeah but I swore him to secrecy, wanted you to not have the chance to avoid my return call. Guess he kept his promise."

"Yeah, he always does," Sam earnestly declares, half with affection and admiration and half with censor because he knows what Dean's kept promises tend to cost his brother. '_Like this one_.'

He almost startles when Amelia speaks again, has nearly forgotten she is still on the line.

"Sam I….I wish you the best. And though I didn't know your brother, I'm sure he would want that for you too."

Now it's Sam's voice that is cracking with emotion. "Yeah, yeah he would." Because it's making painful sense: Dean's about face when he came back into his hospital room. It wasn't about Garth's text, well, not all of it, was about Amelia's call, was about Dean trying to make his decision for him by pushing him away, of seeking out Benny's help instead of his own. About Dean trying to do what he thought was best for him.

"Bye Sam," Amelia says and before Sam can utter his own 'bye' Amelia's ended the call, has let him go.

SNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN

Back behind the Impala's steering wheel, Sam waits for Benny's appearance, honestly doesn't know what he plans to do when the vampire shows up, only knows that he's not going to let Dean go with him.

But Benny doesn't make an appearance, Dean does.

When his brother makes his slow exit out the hospital's automatic doors, it hits Sam all over again, how broken Dean seems. '_Is_,' he corrects himself because Dean's not indestructible, nearly died in his arms in that forest and he can't forget that, no matter how much Dean pushes him away, tries to prove he's able to take care of himself. Zeke was right, Dean needs him to save him, just like he needs Dean to return the favor.

It takes everything in him to not surge out of the car and go to Dean, to instead sit there and watch his brother shuffle the short distance to the curb, stand there hunched over, his face creased with pain, be terrified Dean will collapse and he won't be there to catch him. Wait, just like Dean is, for his ride to come pick him up.

But the car that pulls to a stop in front of Dean isn't Benny's beat up truck, is a yellow taxi cab. Even as Dean's stepping toward the cab, Sam is bolting from the Impala and running across the parkinglot. He's reaching for the gun at his waist when he abandons that tactic. Like it or not, Benny isn't really the enemy. Certainly isn't Dean's and Dean will not appreciate if he continues to see him as one. Didn't mean it changed his resolve to order the vampire to stay five states away from his brother.

Reaching the other side of the cab, Sam rips open the passenger door, leans in and finds himself ready to threaten…. an empty back seat.

Straightening, he looks over the roof of the cab to a chagrined Dean. "Where is he?" he demands, isn't backing down even if he has to force Dean to give up his good buddy's location.

Caught red handed, Dean chooses silence as his defense of choice and shifts nervously on his unsteady legs as Sam stalks around the cab to be toe to toe with him.

"Where's Benny, Dean?! Is he meeting you somewhere?!" Sam interrogates, knows he's yelling at his seriously wounded brother, again. Managing to inhale a steadying breath, he says with a little more reason and reduced volume but no less resolve, "Because I'm not letting you do it, Dean. I'm not letting you put your life in his hands, not again. I wasn't there in Purgatory and you had no choice, I get that. But I'm here and you're not risking your life on the hope that he can stay…" In deference to the cabbie who seems interested in their conversation, he modifies his description. "…sober."

Before Dean can defend his friend, Sam lets his fear manifest itself in his next set of words, "He falls off the wagon, just once, just for a second…." Sam shutters to think of that happening. "I'm not going to let you take that risk, Dean. I'm not. So just….call him up, tell him you're not coming. I won't go after him because….I understand Dean, what he did for you and I can even be grateful but …" Here Sam falters, wonders if what he's about to say will break what he's hoping to fix but has to get it out in the open, all of it. "I don't trust him, Dean, not with _your_ life. I can't. So…tell him to get out of town…out of the state and stay away from you or I'll…I'll do what I have to do to keep you safe, even from him. Ok. So ….call him now, cancel your play date."

Sam's long winded, heartfelt declaration, it only serves to rack Dean's guilt higher. Eyes dropping from Sam's, he mumbles, "I don't have to call him."

But Sam takes Dean's statement as a refusal and his tone has taken on a steely, don't-mess-with-me resolve when he growls out, "You call him or I will."

Huffing out a frustrated defeated breath, Dean meets the determined glint in Sam's eyes and confesses, "He's not coming, Sam….he never was."

At first, confusion mars Sam's features until its replaced by stark understanding which ignites into righteous anger. "This was another friggin' mental game, wasn't it?! Another plot to get me out of the way."

Dean smiles, but it's bittersweet. "Sometimes you make it too easy."

Sam steps away from Dean, has to because he's not sure he won't throw a punch. Dean set him up again, got him out of the way to do what? So he could crawl off somewhere on his own, hurt like he is?!

Though Sam's royally pissed at him, Dean knows his brother won't let him walk away from him, not now. Starting to step to the cabbie to dismiss him, he isn't all that surprised when Sam is suddenly blocking his path and his brother's hands shoot out and coil restrictively onto his forearms. Eyes cheekily holding Sam's, he explains, "I was going to send the cabbie on his way, unless I'm free to go."

Releasing his grip on Dean, Sam pulls his wallet out, tosses a five at the driver with a curt, "We don't need your services." That's all the cabbie needs to put the cab in motion and leave the bickering men on the hospital stoop.

Possessively reclaiming his hold on Dean's forearm, Sam is about to tug Dean off the curb and across the parking lot when he notices something that manages to smother his fury with affectionate concern. "Ah, Dean, where are your shoes?" his gently chides, feels his heart twist at the vulnerability of a weak, barely able to stand, _barefoot _Dean.

"Couldn't get 'em on," Dean mumbles like a dejected six year old, his eyes skipping away from Sam's.

The confession gives Sam a jolt of stark reality, reinforces what he coached himself not to forget, that the greyness of Dean's skin and the sheen of sweat on Dean's brow telegraph to anyone not blind. That Dean is fragile, in need of gentle handling.

Easing his grip on Dean's arm, Sam is torn on his next move, says aloud, more to himself than to Dean, "You shouldn't even be out of bed, let alone out of the hospital."

"I'm fine," Dean boasts even as he's feeling cold and clammy and the parking lot's shifting under him like a ship at sea, indicators that he's about to pass out.

"Stop saying that!" Sam rails back, his grip ruthlessly tightening again on his brother's arm even as his other hand claims a matching hold on Dean's other arm and he gets into Dean's personal space.. "And stop telling me to go! I made my choice, Dean. I'm staying. Why can't you accept that!?"

Dean is feeling too awful to censor his comebacks. "Because you'll change your mind, Sam! You always do!" Almost immediately he wants to recant his words, especially when Sam flinches, pales and lets him go, pulls away. When it puts into motion the exact thing he feared in the first place. But he can't take the words back, can't even say something to make it better, not when his world's going white around the edges.

"Dean I…." Sam begins, not sure if Dean will believe his vow, or even if Dean should but before he can complete his sentence, Dean's toppling over. "Whoa!" he exclaims as he catches Dean in his arms, keeps his brother from hitting the unforgiving pavement. "Dean, hey, hey!"

Finding his unplanned for descent halted by Sam's awesome upper body strength, Dean mumbles into his brother's shirt, "Don't feel good, Sammy." Which is an understatement because he isn't sure if he's ripe to pass out, puke or keel over dead. Any could be possible with how badly he's feeling.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," Sam reassures by his brother' ear, pulling Dean tighter against him, feeling the cold dread that they were about to reenact the night in the forest with Dean dying in his arms. "I'll get you back inside to your room."

"No," Dean refutes, finds the strength to raise his hand, fist it in his brother's shirt and lever himself off of Sam's solid form. But Sam doesn't let him go, gently pulls him back in, cinches him to him and he can't fight Sam, not physically. "They'll put me in the wacko ward, Sam," he announces, needs Sam to know that that can't happen, that this is his crap to deal with, not to air out, with the help of some "medication" regimen, to anyone else.

It's not like Sam didn't see the likelihood of that threat, just had hoped Dean was more on the road to recovery when it reared its ugly head. "Ok, ok, so not back to the room." Spotting a bench, he plans, "How about you take a seat on the bench behind you while I go get the Impala, alright?" even as he shifts to Dean's side without losing his hold on his brother. Then it's all joint effort to get Dean across the two yards and down onto the bench. His hand supportively coiled around the base of Dean's neck, Sam crouches down to meet Dean's glassy glaze, "I'm going to go get the Impala but I need to know you're good here, not going to pass out while I'm gone." Because Dean didn't need to add a tumble off a bench to his medical calamities, not to mention Sam isn't up to seeing Dean sport even another _bruise_, let alone opening up the wound on his back. He would probably end up in the wacko ward himself if anything else happened to Dean.

Shaking his head to try and get his vision to play nice, Dean reaches an unsteady hand out to latch onto the bench railing but Sam's hand ends up catching his off course hand and guiding it to the railing. And it's his brother's fingers that press his fingers down to coil around the iron. Anchor in place, Dean swallows and hopes he sounds more confident than he is, "Go Sam, I'm ok."

With a accepting nod, Sam forces himself to stand up, leave Dean's side and make a dash for the Impala. To his relief, Dean's still upright on the bench when he parks as close to the curb as he can without scraping the Impala's precious tires, doesn't even bother to shut the engine off before he's flying out of the car. But he comes up short as he looks down at Dean, uncertain if he should help Dean walk to the car or simply toss Dean over his shoulder.

"You're not carrying me, Sam," Dean lowly mutters, rolling his head back so he can look up at Sam's towering figure. Then he reaches his hand up, doesn't have to wait more than two seconds before Sam's grabs it and hauls him off the bench. Which almost leads to another pass out, except, once again Sam's got his possessive paws all over him, draws him against him and helps him make the pathetically torturous ten steps to his baby. Then he's half falling, half guided down into the passenger seat. Once there, he instantly slumps back against the bench seat, swallows down his nausea and closes his eyes, doesn't care where Sam heads as long as he doesn't have to move anytime in the foreseeable future.

Retrieving a water bottle from the back seat, Sam crouches down by Dean and puts the bottle into his brother's lax hand. "Take a few swallows of water, Dean," he gently commands, relieved when Dean can actually accomplish opening his eyes, has the strength to raise the bottle to drink. But Sam still can't help shoot a furtive look over his shoulder at the hospital because, whatever meager color Dean's had, is gone. Dean's pushed himself way beyond what he should, his wound could be bleeding again for all he knows.

When his look swivels again to Dean, his brother is watching him, waiting for him to fail him, betray him, turn his care back to someone else because he can't spare the time to take care of his own brother. And just like that, the hospital is no longer an option. He will not hurt Dean more with his decisions. But as he pats Dean's knee, stands up, shuts the passenger door and crosses to the driver's side, he can't help but pray that his 'care' won't end up hurting Dean more.

Though Sam's now back behind the wheel, he doesn't put the Impala in motion, instead is transfixed by the sight of Dean, back in the Impala. '_I didn't know if I would ever see that again_,' he realizes and it makes his throat nearly close up.

Dean hates to ask anything of Sam but it's either speak up or lose the water he's just downed. "I need some air," he breathlessly confesses with his eyes closed, his head back against the bench seat and his stomach doing flips.

"Ok, hang on." Sam quickly leans over Dean to crank down the passenger window. When a light breeze blows into the car, he can practically see Dean gulping in the air. Retreating back to his own part of the Impala, he tugs the water bottle from Dean's hand before it topples on the floor and recaps it. "If you need to stop…."

"You'll be the first to know," Dean promises, his eyes still clamped shut.

'_Great, progress, right? I'm on the top of Dean's Puke Announcement List_, s_o I must be back in his good graces_,' Sam sardonically thinks as he puts the Impala into motion. But there's another side of things he's not so willing to think about. That Dean's usual bravado isn't in play anymore, that Dean's in too much pain, is in too much misery to even try to fool him. Or shelter him. Because, that has always been part of it, Dean's bravado, to not traumatize his little brother, to shelter him, to protect him.

And Sam wants to tell Dean the roles are reversed right now, that he'll make everything ok, but he's doesn't have a lot of faith that Dean will believe him, is having trouble believing it himself with his fantastic string of screw-ups when it came to Dean.

Being in the Impala, hearing the purr of his baby's finely tuned engine, leaving the hospital in the rearview mirror….Sam at his side, it's more than he deserves, Dean knows that. Knows too that it's all because of Sam's too big heart. "Thanks Sammy for not dragging me back in there," he says, forcing his eyes open and rolling his head so he can see Sam, making sure his brother knows all he's thanking him for. It's startling and painful to see shock cross Sam's face, to watch his brother's eyes dart in surprise to him before returning to the road, as if he didn't think Dean had it in him, to be grateful. Dean is about to offer up an apology for being such a jerk back in the hospital room when his brother shoots him an affectionate smirk.

"Purely for selfish reasons," Sam counters, clarifies to himself '_to start making amends, to prove to you that I can take care of you, that I care about what you want._' But aloud he tacks on, "After all, the nurses would have probably thought I busted you out of there in the first place and lynched me." He relishes Dean small but so welcome smile before silence falls in the Impala, but it's a content type of quiet, gives Sam hope that he can convince Dean that they are both right where they should be.

**SNSNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSN**

Black streaks impacted with the ground all around the mixed group of ghouls, vampire, angel and human …and rose up as dark suit clad Leviathans. Leviathans who weren't shy about showing Little Red Riding Hood what big teeth they had. As for the ghouls, they responded to the newcomers like Dean had hoped they would, like starving wild animals who would risk death to keep their meals.

The two factions clashed with ferocious brutally, didn't have the luxury of paying attention to their collective prizes.

Taking advantage of their enemies' distraction, Benny and Cas quickly went to Dean, ignored the immobile man's order to leave him and proceeded to grab Dean's arms and haul the man off the ground. But Cas interfered with Benny's intent to pull Dean over his shoulders.

"I'll carry him," Cas announced, beginning to pull Dean in his direction.

But Benny's having none of it. "But I'm not hurt that bad," the vampire heatedly counters, doesn't like that the angel thinks he's incapable of helping Dean.

Behind his bickering friends, Dean sees a Leviathan decapitate a ghoul with one chomp and start to stalk their way. "Guys, we need to move! Now!"

Shooting a look over his shoulder, seeing the approaching Leviathan, Cas hurriedly made his case to Benny. "You're a better fighter."

A slow smile pulled onto Benny's lips. "Well, you silver tongued rascal," he drawled even as he heaved Dean over Cas's shoulder, side stepped his friends, scoped down to retrieve Dean's Purgatory knife that the headless ghoul had been using, and swung out with the razor sharp blade. He watched only long enough to be sure the Leviathan's head was severed before he turned back to his friends. Snagging Dean's enchanted knife from the ground as another ghoul bit the big one, he passed the knife to Cas then nearly gave the angel a push as he shouted, "Move! Move!" because the odds seemed to be changing and the ghouls were losing fast.

With Dean draped over his shoulder, Cas still managed to dodge the combatants like a pro ball player. His jacket was only snagged once by a grasping Leviathan hand, but Benny severed the appendage with one swift downward stroke. And then they were out of the combat zone but the shrieks of agony and fury told them that the distraction was nearly at an end. That they needed to get away and hide as quick as they could.

But they had to skid to a stop as a Leviathan plummeted to the ground right in front of them. But before it could truly take on human shape, Cas kicked out, caused a distortion in the eons old monster between smoke and human form. But the second the human form solidified, Cas unleashed a wicked one handed arch of Dean's infamous Ruby knife and the Leviathan lost its head.

Grabbing a fist full of Cas' trench coat, Benny half dragged Cas and the precious burden over the angel's shoulder forward, eyeing up the thick forest three hundred yards ahead. "Please tell me you're not still broadcasting our location."

"No, but we need to get as far from this place as we can," Cas replied.

"Really, thought we were gonna set up a picnic," Benny sarcastically volleyed back, told himself to not look back but couldn't help himself. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news but our ghoul compadres are all down for the count and two of your Leviathan buddies are starting to discover we vamoosed."

"Not my buddies," Dean corrected from his less than awesome position over Cas's shoulder, wished paralysis meant he didn't feel pain, wasn't biting his tongue to not cry out as the ghoul's cuts on his chest rubbed painfully against Cas' back at every move the angel made.

"You're the one who wanted to invite them to our buffet," Benny pointed out, his eyes scanning ahead, hoping that ten more seconds and they'll be in the thicket, will have some cover. Not great cover but this was Purgatory after all, didn't want hiding to be an option, now would we?! Would take all the fun out of the place.

Dean didn't complain when branches suddenly caught onto his foot, snagged onto his arm, scratched his face. After all, luggage didn't get a vote on destination or treatment. Was just along for the ride.

Their entrance into the thicket lacked the finesse of stealth, was leaving a trail of broken branches that a cub scout could track but they were out of the open and going deeper into the dense forest by the minute. But the angel's strength was waning and Benny's had started to push off the trees to keep propelling himself forward. They couldn't keep going, all three of them knew that.

Stumbling, Cas caught himself just in time, knew that if he fell, he could seriously injure Dean…well, _more_ seriously injure Dean. Already knew the man was in pain, pain that was wracked higher by each and every jarring step he took while bearing his friend's still motionless body upon his shoulder.

Sinking to his knees in the close forest, Cas contemplated putting Dean down, looked to his left as Benny slumped to the ground beside him, drenched in sweat and blood welling from his own ghoul inflicted wounds. They weren't going anywhere, not anytime soon or for any length of time. "Help me," he bade Benny as he started to lever Dean off his shoulder. Together they settled Dean against a tree and Benny was considerate enough to lift Dean's head up and tilt it back to rest against the tree trunk.

Looking to Cas, Benny quietly asked the question on all their minds, "Will they come in here?"

Cas exchanged a look with Dean, both knew the Leviathans' temperament and said in synch, "Yes."

Benny hung his head. That wasn't the answer he was looking for but his head snapped up as Dean made a stupid suggestion.

"So alright then. Just like we were going to do with the ghouls, I'm bait."

"No," Benny tersely refused.

"Dean's plan does have merit," Cas countered, didn't wither under the vampire's glare.

"Merit?!" Benny incredulously repeated with a hiss, eyes searing into Cas'. "Those things don't make it a habit of playing around with their prey. All they want from Dean, is for him to be dead. Before we even make our move, they could lob off his head."

But it was Dean who replied to Benny's dark prediction. "Then you better put your southern butt in fast gear."

"Name calling, real mature," Benny retorted but he was smiling in spite of himself, understood what Dean's goad really implied: Dean's explicit trust, in him and in Cas, in their ability to keep him alive. Patting Dean on the leg, he vowed, "We'll show up before they eat you…well, all of you," he teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Great, that settles my nerves right down," Dean darkly muttered but the look that he and Benny exchanged held nothing but trust. However, when Cas and Benny each scattered a different direction in the woods and he was left all alone, unable to raise a finger to defend himself, it wasn't trust in Benny and Cas' ability to save him that gave him the fortitude to let out a yell of not-really-fabricated pain to bring the Leviathans right to his doorstep. No, it was his resolve to make sure his friends weren't the hunted, but that he was.

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TBC

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Like the energizer bunny, this story keeps going and going! Really, seriously, I'm going to wrap it up soon. I will.

Thanks to all the people still reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	21. Chapter 21: Reward of Being a Martyr

Surviving Is Just Step One

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 21: Reward of Being a Martyr

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_Rule # 21: The only reward of being a martyr is knowing with certainty that your fate's in someone else's hands._

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**SNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN**

The Leviathans were coming, every instinct Dean owned told him that. Course it wasn't like the Leviathans were bothering with stealth either, didn't give a thought to snapping branches and crunching leaves underfoot, of announcing their approach. But that was the difference between being the hunter and not the prey, the lack of fear, the egotistical notion that they would come out the victor.

And Dean wasn't all too sure their brag wasn't right. Because seriously, here he was sitting on his hands playing bait and Cas and Benny were out there determined to play his protector while neither one was up to snuff, had trouble gaining their feet and stumbling into the forest, let alone going mano e mano against a pair of Leviathans.

'_If this was a WWII movie, I would at least have a grenade to make my last stand, to take out a few Nazis with me,'_ Course not like he could _pull _the pin…'less he put the grenade in his mouth, used his teeth to pull the pin like twisting a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. But as it was, he was defenseless, could only play his part and pray Cas and Benny could take down the Leviathans without getting themselves killed in the process. To that end, he let out another bellow of pain, cut it off mid-way hoping the Levis thought he was trying to stifle it, to hide…not to lead them right to his doorstep.

SNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN

Benny froze in the forest and hunkered down, told himself that Dean's aborted cry right then, wasn't real, was Dean luring the Big Mouths in for the party. But it sounded real, didn't doubt Dean's pain was real. The realization made it hard to start the trek _away_ from Dean again. '_How 'bout you concentrate on making sure no Leviathans reach him, huh? That's what he needs from you,_' he chided himself as he began to move forward, tracked the sounds coming his way, of the Leviathans seeking out their wounded prey.

Benny hated that his legs faltered a moment later, that he had to grab for a tree, lean against the trunk and marshal his strength even as he fingers coiled tighter around the handle of the knife he held, spoke of his determination to see things through. Baring his vampire teeth, he pushed off the tree and advanced. He vowed that he would not let the Leviathans reach Dean, even if it was the last thing he did.

SNSNSNSNSNSN ~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSNSNSN

Crouching, his back against a tree, Cas waited, knew the Leviathans would be crossing his path soon. Found it remarkable that, after running unaccompanied for weeks, trying to keep ahead of the Leviathans, to ensure they chased him and would never find Dean, here he was letting Dean _call_ the Leviathans to himself, was actually _facilitating_ the very scenario that he feared most in Purgatory: Dean at the Leviathans' mercy.

It was that very fear that had led him to abandon Dean in the first place, had given him the strength to turn a deaf ear to Dean's prayers asking him to come to him, for them to travel through Purgatory together. Because he alone knew the true lack of mercy the Leviathans had, had felt their evil, had known their thoughts, had done their bidding. Knew better than Dean ever would the raw enjoyment they had at taking a life, that they would have at taking the life of the human who had murdered their messiah. Knew that it would be kinder if the Leviathans did as Benny predicted, simply killed Dean out right.

'_I will not let it come to that_,' Cas vowed, coming to his feet, sensing his prey was close, thought that only Dean Winchester could cause him to hunt the very creatures he had been running from all this time. To make him do the illogical, but for all the right reasons.

Then he stalked out from his cover and, swiping out with Dean's knife, he scored a path across the black tall male Leviathan's shoulder before ducking under a thrown right cross. Raising his knee, Cas plowed it into the Levi's gut but his opponent lurched away before he could bring the knife blade down and sever his neck.

Tightening his grip on the knife, Cas squared off with the Levi, growled, "I'm the one you want. Go ahead and tell your companion where to find me." '_Leave Dean alone, make Benny's confrontation with the other Leviathan unnecessary.' _

The Leviathan smiled as they circled one another. "I'm not really that good with sharing a meal. And besides, you're not the only want we want…you were just the only one we could track. I should really thank you for leading us to Dean Winchester. We'll be touted as heroes for capturing him. Personally, I'm hoping to get a taste of him at our celebration banquet."

An icy chill slipped down Cas' spine at the realization that this Leviathan knew Dean's identity, knew what Dean had done. '_And he's right, I led them right to Dean._' To a Dean that was now alone, vulnerable, would be tortured before being killed if Cas didn't manage to come out of this confrontation the victor.

With an enraged blood thirsty snarl no angel should ever utter, Cas launched himself at the Leviathan.

SNSNSNSN~ Purgatory ~ SNSNSNSN

As it turned out, the Leviathan found Benny before the vampire could find her. Only his vampiric speed allowed him to duck the blade that imbedded in the tree trunk behind him. Not wasting time being grateful, he instead came up swinging, sending the lithe blond female Leviathan retreating back step after step. Until the Leviathan stepped into his swing, grabbed his wrist and nearly broke it as she slammed it across her knee, sending his knife tumbling to the ground. Then he got an elbow to the face and an uppercut to the jaw that knocked him to the ground. Crab walking backwards, he retreated from the Leviathan's slow advance. "Don't suppose you would call a time out, let me catch my breath," he smart mouthed, knew his suggestion wasn't being taken under advisement when the Leviathan showed her big mouth and sharp teeth.

But when she came for him, he snagged a tree branch from the ground and whaled it into her temple. Then she was the one falling. Taking that intermission to scramble to his feet, Benny held onto the branch like a baseball bat, smiled as the Leviathan came to her feet. "Well, darlin', you had enough foreplay?"

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Dean heard voices pinging off the trees, couldn't make out the words or identify the speakers but he knew Leviathans usually didn't go into small talk here. Were more about teeth gnashing and pain than verbal repartee, which left Cas and Benny as the chatty ones.

"What are you two trying to do, talk them to death?" he grumbled, hating all the while that he couldn't be out there, had no idea how his friends were fairing. But at least they were still alive. "So far," he darkly said but a sound closer to home had his eyes darting to the right. "Oh crap," he breathed as a dark suit clad freckled faced, male Leviathan with red hair parted some branches and hopped out into the trail they had blazed. "Great, what are you supposed to be? The Leprechaun Leviathan?"

The Leviathan smiled with his human teeth and shook his head. "Not a Leprechaun, Winchester," he denied amicably as he drew closer to the immobile human like a cheetah would an antelope. "I'm the new king, thanks to you."

"Huh, so you're Dick's understudy. Gotta say, Roman had more style," Dean taunted, thought if he was going down it wasn't going to be begging. Meeting the pale eyes steadily as the Leviathan crouched down in front of him, he waited for the killing blow to come. '_I really could use that dead-man's grenade right now_.'

The new Leviathan head honcho didn't rail at Dean's assessment but chuckled. "Can't fault you there. He had charisma, expensive taste and vision."

"So what do you bring to the Leviathan party?" Dean asked as if he cared, hoping to mask the fact that he was just able to move his fingers, might be able to stage an attack…in about an hour when he could do more than just give Leprechaun Levi the middle finger.

The Leviathan leader raised his arms wide to indicate the forest and all that went with it. "Why this paradise?" he sardonically announced.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure you got lots of votes."

"Well you and your angel friend ruined our chances of being free again," an edge of malice beginning to seep through the Leviathan's cool demeanor.

Dean gave a ballsy smile. "I'd apologize but we both know I wouldn't mean it."

"But what I can give them is you," the Leviathan stated, pointing a deliberate finger at his trapped prey.

"Wow, I've never been into the political scene before let alone been a cheap politician giveaway for votes. Will you write my speeches or do you have a speech writer for that?" Dean snarked though he knew he was going to be a silent presence on the campaign trail. Dead silent.

The Levi's lips turned up into a threatening smirk. "Let's just say you're going to be more a _symbol_ of my power."

Dean nodded his head, fought down a hard swallow even as he discovered that he could move his hand if he concentrated real hard, started to inch it closer to his pocket, to the only weapon he had. "The old ways are still the best ways, right? When a king conquered another king he took his head and put it on a spike at the town gate."

"That what you think you are, a king?" The Leviathan drawled with disdain but he scowled when it elicited a roiling chuckle from the human.

It took Dean a moment to quiet down his laughter. "No, no king, just a stupid, lowly hunter. But you know what, I did gank Dick, helped Cas send you unlucky mothers back here to live out your days, both of which I'm pretty proud of."

The Leviathan's hand shot out, seized Dean's neck and squeezed. "And I'm going to proudly display your head in my foyer," the biblical creature snarled.

"You have a foyer? Here?!" Dean wheezed out in mocking disbelief. But his fingers, uncoordinated and tingly, finally did his bidding and slid into his pocket. Then he felt the small cylinder tube under his finger pads. It wasn't much, wouldn't do much damage, would offer a distraction, not an exodus, would only be a last strike, probably even meaningless. To everybody but him. Because if this was it, was the end of the line for him, he wanted to go down defiant. It was all he had left to hope for.

**SNSNSNSN~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNS**

Startled out of the clutches of the dark memories, Dean realizes that a hand is pressed against his cheek, that there's physical contact going on that he didn't give the green light to. But he can't get his eyes open, can't move, can't flinch, lacks the energy to do any of it, is cut off from the world, but not the increasing pain razing through his back.

And though the hand's not hurting him, feels…reassuring, he offers up a moan of protest.

"You're cold. That could mean you're losing blood again or going into shock or…" a voice raw with frustration and worry theorizes before unleashing a stringent curse. And it's Sam's voice, Dean knows it blind. Wants to offer some encouragement to Sam, but it's beyond him, like everything is. The heavy weight of his limbs, of his eye lids, its like he's been caterpillar toxined again.

When the hand expectantly leaves him, he feels something akin to fear, until he hears movement beside him. Then something's being draped over him, tucked around him and the hand's back cupping his face and he hears his brother's voice again, close. "We're almost there, ok, then you can crash as long as you want, make me be your servant, bring you drinks and pie and …" a breathless exhale "….anything else you want."

Dean should jump at the opportunity to turn him into his personal slave, but he doesn't, doesn't offer up a rejoinder, isn't blinking his eyes, isn't moving and its bitter proof that Sam should be driving to the nearest hospital to their current location. But he won't be doing that for the simple reason that, Dean didn't want him to. And Dean's wishes, they mattered to him. More than Dean would ever know.

So it's not a hospital that has Sam turning off the highway half an hour later but a surprisingly well-kept mom and pop motel's welcoming presence. When he parks the Impala in the motel's parking lot and cuts the engine, he doesn't head for the office, instead instantly turns to Dean, hopes to have more luck rousing Dean than he has the past hour.

Fingers pressed against Dean's neck, he's not thrilled with his brother's fast heart rate but it's reassuring all the same to feel that wonderful proof of life under his fingertips. So Dean's in there, somewhere. He hadn't missed Dean's moan of …was that protest or pain? Either guess makes Sam's gut clench.

But he can't force himself to get out of the car, to leave Dean alone until he knows Dean is somewhat conscious, could at least shout if he needed him. So he gently taps his fingers against Dean's cheek, entreaties, "Hey, sleeping beauty, need you to wake up a bit. Can you do that for me?"

And honestly, Dean doubts he would have found the energy to open his eyes for anyone else, but Sam isn't anyone else, is his brother, is still there with him, even after his fakeout about Benny coming, is still at his side for some crazy reason, is still keen for his company, lousy as it is right then.

Sam's exhale is a shaky laugh of happiness as Dean's eyes miraculously flicker open, settle on him. "Hey," Sam greets, lets his warm tone convey the things he's not up to saying.

"Hey," Dean hoarsely parrots back before he manages to lift his two ton head from the Impala's headrest, squint into the afternoon sun filtering through the Impala's windshield. "Where we?" he slurs, mouth as dry as the Sahara.

'_Together_' Sam silently replies before he sheepishly shakes his head, admits, "Not sure." Because he hadn't had a location in mind, had just started to drive, already had everything he needed right there in the Impala. "Gonna check us into the motel. Then I can do a pharmacy run. Get food too. You hungry for something?"

But even the mention of food has Dean swallowing hard, fighting his stomach's urge to manifesting it's unhappiness in a more demonstrative, gross way. He tries to shift upright in the hopes of catching more of the breeze coming into the window but the stab of pain emanating from his back takes his breath away, has him tightly grabbing onto the edge of the car's seat and nearly sends him back into the unconsciousness of a few minutes prior.

Watching Dean go rigid, secure a white knuckled grip on the Impala's seat and take in a sharp inhale of breath, Sam curses himself for not making a pharmacy run before now, for thinking whatever pain medication the hospital pumped into Dean earlier in the day was still holding his brother's agony at bay. "Hang on, hang on, I'll get us a room," he soothes before he bolts out of the car, enters the office as a man on a mission and cuts across the clerk's "How are you? It's a nice day out there" greeting with a frank, "I need a room, two beds and a kitchen." The '_right frigging now'_ is understood as he tosses a couple twenty dollar bills on the countertop.

It's probably the quickest check-in Sam's ever managed and yet it seems too long until he's back in the Impala, can reassure himself that Dean's still there, is even awake, silently watching him as he puts the Impala in reverse and then sends the classic car lurching forward to park in front of their allotted room. It says a lot that when he flies out the door and circles the car, Dean hasn't opened his car door yet, in fact hasn't moved.

It makes Sam open the door with caution, afraid Dean will topple out. But his fears are misplaced because Dean sits stock still, gives him a look…that he can't interpret. "Ok, we're in lucky room number thirteen," he commentates as he pulls Dean's arm over his shoulder and levers Dean from the Impala, loops his arm around Dean's waist when his brother's on his feet, sort of. Biting his lip when Dean gives a contorted cry of pain that Dean chokes off almost immediately, he soothes, "Sorry, sorry, I don't know how to do this without hurting you." Then he's more carrying Dean than steadying him as they slowly head for the beckoning door embossed with a faded number thirteen. He's so intent on reaching their destination he almost doesn't catch Dean's weak voice asking a question that shouldn't need to be asked.

"Why are you doing this, Sam?" Because Dean knows what he's done, the mess he's made of things, knows that Sam has choices, doesn't have to be there. "I know how pissed you are at me." And he certainly knows he doesn't deserve Sam's careful handling.

Shooting Dean an incredulous look, Sam realizes it's wasted on his brother, whose head is down, chin resting on his chest. So as he unlocks the room and pulls Dean over the threshold, he makes his verbal reply. "I'm mad at you, Dean, I don't hate you." The 'idjit' part silent but hopefully recognized.

"You should," Dean grunts out, too low for Sam to hear.

Then Sam's easing Dean's nearly limp frame onto the bed farthest from the door, gently settles Dean's head onto the pillow and then brings his brother's legs up onto the mattress. He claims a seat at Dean's hip and reaches his hand out to cup his brother's face. "I need to get you something for the pain," but just thinking about leaving Dean right then, even for a mission of mercy, makes him sick.

"Pocket," Dean croaks, knows he's said it too softly when Sam leans in closer. "My pocket," he repeats.

An expert at interpreting Dean's short hand conversations, Sam reaches into Dean's jean's pocket, all the while expecting some snarky comment about personal space but none come. And then he's got a small cache of loose white pills in his hand. He gives a wide eyed look to Dean. "Dean how did…are these…."

Dean gives a wane smirk. "Once a klepto…"

Sam's too grateful that he doesn't have to leave Dean alone for a pharmacy run to criticize Dean's actions or the fact that Dean didn't tell him about the pills sooner, like the moment his pain started to crescendo. Picking up Dean's hand, he rolls two pills into his brother's palm then goes to the kitchenette, grabs two glasses from the cabinet, dumps the pills in one glass and fills the other with water before returning to his former position on his brother's bed.

Dean's already tossed the pills into his mouth, is reaching for the water glass and Sam doesn't deny him the freedom of holding his own drink. Well, most of the freedom because his hand's there too, guiding the glass, making sure it doesn't slip from his brother's feeble shaky grip. Worst thing is, Dean doesn't even glare at him for the assist, simply takes a healthy swallow of water to get the pills down and then relinquishes the glass to Sam's care.

Then Dean shuts his eyes, seems all too scarily willing to surrender to unconsciousness again. Is so not…._Dean_ at the moment that Sam's fighting down a stab of panic. Knows he should be getting their bags from the car, offering to go grab some food, heck, consult an EMF because their luck is so bad right then it wouldn't surprise him if they were about to bunk down in a motel with ghosts.

But he does none of it, can't make himself move, just watches Dean sleep, or pretend to sleep.

Dean knows Sam's waiting for something from him, but he can't, for the life of him, figure out what. Knows too that its cowardly to play possum but he does it anyways. He feels both guilty and relieved when the bed shifts as Sam gets up. But an unexpected dread settles in his chest when he hears the room door opening, knows Sam's about to leave.

"Sam."

Sam swivels around in surprised pleasure at Dean's call of his name and some of the tension leaks out of him as his brother's eyes met his.

"I…." Dean starts but doesn't know where to go from there, how to say sorry, to ask if Amelia called him back already, to say he'd understand if Sam goes and doesn't come back, to ask, in the same breath, for Sam to please not take that option, to not leave him.

Sam doesn't prod Dean to continue, simply gives his brother a warm smile and vows, "I won't forget the pie," waits to see Dean's small but mercifully there smirk before he closes the door behind him.

And this time, when Dean closes his eyes, it's not about avoidance but peace because Sam's pledge to bring back pie? He knew what it really was: Sam-speak for '_Of course I'm coming back, jerk.' _

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I'm really eating up your lovely reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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